


The Brink of Dark Oblivion

by emi_lyliz



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, I tagged what I tagged okay that's what I'm trying to say, Post-Canon, also this might be a bit of a bastardization, arwen is tagged because I reference their canon relationship, because that's my headcanon and in my works I am god, better safe than sorry, but I don't care and you can't stop me, but honestly what counts as graphic, implied aroace!Merlin, it's not really that violent imo, nothing explicitly merthur so it's not tagged
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29170323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emi_lyliz/pseuds/emi_lyliz
Summary: More than a thousand years after his death, Arthur rises from Avalon, his and Merlin's moment of destiny finally upon them.
Relationships: Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	1. For the Kingdom You Helped Me Build

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter titles are all random fragments from Merlin quotes because I think I'm cute. I'll include the source in the Author's Notes for the sake of credit. The work itself is titled after a quote from Aredian in _The Witchfinder_.
> 
> Putting it out there right now that a few chapters later on get emo as hell. If that's not what you're looking for, they're easily skipped (especially as I'm putting in chapter summaries for this), but I do like them. It'd be real rad if you liked them too. But if angst (of varying degrees) isn't your thing, vibe your vibe, friend. I'm not here to trick people into being sad; that'd be super rude.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big moment: Arthur emerges from the depths of Avalon, completely unaware how much time has passed, and reunites with Merlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one may be fairly obvious, but chapter one's title is said by Arthur in _The Diamond of the Day: Part Two _.__  
> 

The waters of Avalon stirred gently as a cool breeze blew over the lake. The wind rustled through the plant life in the forest, dense and alive in the summer heat. Merlin had always loved the lake at this time of the year. With all the sounds and colours of nature around him, he felt so deeply at one with himself as well as with those he’d survived. The comprehensive list had, by this point, grown beyond number, but the list of names he held in his heart was much more defined. Arthur, Guinevere, Gaius – the obvious. It had been centuries now, but the memories of them, of Camelot in its entirety, persisted even as more recent ones faded.

He had lived detached from society and civilisation for going on fourteen hundred years now; he’d passed all his days in Camelot’s wake at Avalon, too attached to even dream of leaving. This was the place he was going to feel closest to those dearest to him, so this was the place he’d stayed. The world turned and changed and developed around him while he stood still at the shores of the lake. He’d begun to wonder whether he was waiting for Arthur to join him, like Kilgharrah had promised, or to finally join Arthur himself.

That day felt brighter and livelier than any had before. Merlin, at peace as much as he could be, stretched his arms out as he closed his eyes, his face towards the sky to feel all the warmth of the sun on his skin. He felt good – really good. It had been so long since he’d felt anything so strongly. Perhaps the sun was shining just right that morning; perhaps the world had shifted just the right number of degrees. Perhaps the wind was blowing at just the right speed.

As he opened his eyes, he noticed the turbulence in the water pick up even as the wind subsided. It perplexed him, so he took a few steps closer, bringing his toes to the water’s edge. It felt warm and strangely homely as it licked at his ankles, stirring more and more furiously as the seconds went by. Eventually, a few metres out from the shore, the water churned so intensely as to begin bubbling like a rapid. Merlin raised his chin as he watched.

 _Boom_. The water at the centre of the commotion erupted like a geyser and came down like rain over the surrounding area, drenching Merlin in the process. He remained unfazed, staring down the lake with even more conviction and anticipation. He could just make out a figure beginning to rise from the water.

The figure was the silhouette of a man, and he stood stiff and tall in the lake, just close enough to shore to still be in the shallows, as the waters began to settle around him. Once the summer serenity Merlin loved so much resumed and the waters of Avalon returned to their gentle rustling, Merlin was able to finally process what he’d seen.

The figure in the shallows looked around at the lake, but he never advanced. He was backlit, so his features weren’t clear, but there was an inkling in the back of Merlin’s mind. Awestricken but determined, Merlin approached, though he was hesitant. He knew what he wanted this all to be, but it seemed like such a faraway possibility that he wanted to maintain a level of scepticism to protect himself from his own musings.

As Merlin drew close enough to the silhouette for the man’s features to become visible, he stopped in his tracks the second he realised he’d been right.

“ _Merlin_?” greeted Arthur, the silhouette in the lake. He stared upon Merlin with wide, manic eyes as he tried to take everything in.

Merlin couldn’t speak. He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t get out a word. He was too overcome with emotion, barely able to keep himself upright under the weight of the recognition that the day he’d waited all those centuries for was finally here.

Arthur, though he was just as overwhelmed as Merlin, took control of the situation. He inhaled deeply before approaching Merlin and taking him by the arm, getting them both to shore where Merlin’s legs finally failed him and brought him, and Arthur by extension, to the ground. “Merlin,” Arthur repeated, now growing more concerned than anything.

Merlin shook his head. “Sorry,” he got himself to say. “Sorry, I just—” He cut off, searching desperately for the words. “It’s been such a long time.”

“Has it?”

Merlin nodded.

“Can’t have been that long, Merlin. At most, what? Couple decades or so?”

Merlin scoffed, regaining composure enough to hold conversation. “Bit longer than that.”

“Alright, how long, then?”

Merlin looked up as if to do the math in his head before sharply returning his gaze to Arthur and, in a low voice that sent shivers up Arthur’s spine, replied, “Fourteen hundred years. Give or take.”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat, and all he could say was, “Fourteen _hundred_ years?”

“Give or take.”

Now they’d traded roles, and Arthur was stunned into silence.

Merlin picked up his slack. “Now you know how I feel.”

“It _cannot_ have been that long.”

“I’ve been telling myself that for the last fourteen centuries, Arthur. Trust me; it can.”

“But what about—”

“If you’re going to ask about Gwen and the royal court, yes. They’re gone. No one could live that long. You know that.”

“Apparently you can.”

“I have my powers to thank for that. If it’s even something I should be grateful for.”

“You haven’t aged a day. In fourteen hundred years, you haven’t aged one single day.”

“Neither have you.”

“Very funny,” Arthur said, smiling just a bit for the first time since he’d come back. He looked at the lakeside around them. “Is there somewhere we can go?”

“Of course,” Merlin affirmed, getting to his feet. He was followed by Arthur. “Up this way,” he directed, nodding his head toward the forest. With Arthur close behind, Merlin led the way through the trees to the little hut he’d been lodged in all those many years, still stood before them only in thanks to Merlin’s magic keeping it from crumbling down. “Welcome to my home.”

Arthur didn’t speak. He simply looked the hut over with an expression of longing and wistfulness, resigning himself to the reality that Merlin and, apparently, the hut before them were all that was left of his time. The Albion he remembered was long since fallen, forgotten with time and twisted into legend by all except the man stood next to him.

Merlin looked to Arthur, noting the look on his friend’s face, and sighed. He knew the feeling too well. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go inside. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Arthur nodded, and the pair entered Merlin’s hut. It was small and quaint, cluttered with relics from days gone by. Some Arthur recognised – the Horn of Cathbhadh, the ornate dagger he’d gifted Morgana, his own armour hung polished and maintained on the wall. The rest were mystical and unfamiliar. Acting on something of a one-track mind, he brushed by Merlin and stood before the place on the wall where his chainmail and armour were mounted, reaching out his hand to run it over the metal and try to reconnect himself with his surroundings. “How did you get this?” he asked, his voice muffled as he stared at it in awe. “I died wearing this.” He’d only now, upon seeing his battle attire in front of him, realised he’d been wearing the simple red tunic he’d worn the first day he and Merlin met in Camelot in its stead.

“It wasn’t easy,” Merlin admitted. He approached and stood just behind Arthur, now, too, looking upon the armour with the same nostalgic ache. “I found the right spell eventually, though. Rose it up from the lake. I’ve collected all sorts of… keepsakes. Someone had to keep the memories alive.” He disappeared briefly to the other side of the hut, and Arthur heard the sounds of him rummaging through some items before he returned. When Arthur could finally bring himself to look away from his armour, he saw in Merlin’s hand a glistening, brilliant sword, and his eyes grew wide. “It was yours. It’s the very one you pulled from the stone,” Merlin informed. “The one I put there for you,” he quipped with a small laugh, handing the sword over to Arthur. “I’ve been calling it Excalibur. Just about everything here’s gotten a name over the years.” He let himself smile as Arthur gazed upon the sword in his hands with wonder. “One more thing,” Merlin said. He pulled from his pocket a necklace with a silver band ring for a pendant. Arthur recognised it on sight.

“Guinevere,” he said, feeling like he could no longer breathe.

Merlin’s eyes glowed gold for a second as he magically pulled a chair up behind Arthur. “Sit,” he said calmly, handing the jewellery over. “I know it’s a lot to process.” He retrieved a chair for himself now and took a seat in front of Arthur, beginning to settle into everything.

Arthur didn’t look up from the ring in his hands, but he asked, “Was she alright?”

“Excuse me?”

“After I left. Was she alright?”

Merlin smiled, but it was faintly sad. “Yes.”

Arthur’s eyes looked up to Merlin for a second at the response before slowly flitting back to the ring. He thought for a second before, lowly, replying, “Good.”

“Gwen was a better queen than anyone could have ever asked for, Arthur. But not a day went by that she didn’t think of you.”

“I made her a promise, you know,” he said. He cleared his throat and straightened himself up, now looking to Merlin. “Looks like I broke that, huh?”

“You weren’t to know.”

“I promised her, Merlin.”

“She understood. Of course she understood.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Maybe,” he conceded. He looked around at the hut. “What happened to Camelot, then?”

“You left Camelot in a good place,” Merlin said, trying to make sure he sounded reassuring instead of melancholic.

He decided to retell some of what happened just following Arthur’s death.

†††††

Merlin watched the boat that held Arthur’s body until he couldn’t bear to any longer. Feeling aimless and remorseful, he turned his back to Avalon and, almost so overcome with his thoughts that his head felt empty, started for Camelot.

Along the way, he came across Percival, who held over his shoulder a very severely wounded Gwaine. Merlin took a moment to register his company; Percival had said his name several times, and only when he put a hand to Merlin’s shoulder did he get a response. “Percival,” Merlin breathed. Now processing what was happening, his eyes met Gwaine and immediately went back up to Percival, filled with panic. He’d just lost Arthur; he wasn’t prepared to lose Gwaine now too.

“He’s breathing,” Percival assured. “But only just. We need to get him to Camelot to see Gaius. I don’t know how long he can hold out.”

“What happened?”

“Morgana,” Percival sighed. “We tried to stop her, but she outsmarted us. I’m not sure what she did to him, but it didn’t sound good. I got to him as quickly as I could.” He looked around at the forest. “We should get out of here fast. She could come back at any second.”

“Morgana won’t be coming back.”

Percival inclined his chin, but he didn’t press. “Where’s Arthur? We heard he was with you.”

“He was,” Merlin confirmed. “He didn’t make it.”

Percival’s face fell.

“Come on,” Merlin said, stiff. He wanted to keep stoic to hold his guilt and mourning at bay. “We have to get Gwaine to Camelot. I’m not sure what I can do for this.”

Percival nodded, and they made the long trek there. Gwaine only barely held on, and he was all but dead by the time Percival and Merlin brought him in to Gaius’ chambers.

“ _Merlin_!” Gaius exclaimed upon seeing his surrogate son. “You’re home.”

“Not really the best time to talk, Gaius,” Merlin replied, though he accepted the embrace Gaius went for as Percival gingerly laid Gwaine down on an empty table to be examined. Pulling away from the hug, Merlin added, “Gwaine needs your help.”

As Gaius looked over Gwaine, he struck conversation. “What happened to him?” he asked.

“Couldn’t say for sure. Morgana tortured him for information on Arthur. I didn’t see what she did,” Percival informed.

“And where is Arthur now?”

“He’s dead,” Merlin said quickly and pointedly, still trying to maintain composure.

Gaius’ hands stopped for a second as he registered the news. He didn’t comment on it, however, instead choosing to turn the conversation back to Gwaine. “This is the work of the Nathair. You’re very lucky you got him here in time.”

“I should go say something to Gwen. You know, about Arthur,” Merlin interjected.

“Stay,” Gaius countered. “You can do far more for Gwaine than I can.”

“ _Gaius_ ,” Merlin hissed, looking between Percival and his guardian.

“It’s fine, Merlin. Gwen knows about you, so I don’t see why Percival shouldn’t.”

“Gwen knows?”

“She worked it out. Merlin, the Nathair requires powerful sorcery to do something like this. Your magic will be far more effective for Gwaine than anything I can do.”

“Someone has to tell her. About Arthur.”

“It can wait for now,” Gaius assured. “Gwaine doesn’t have much longer.”

Merlin let out a shuddering sigh, but he nodded and complied with Gaius’ suggestions. He muttered a healing spell, holding his hands to Gwaine’s chest. Percival, meanwhile, looked on, amazed. He shook his head and turned to Gaius to say, “I should find the knights. They’ll want to know what’s happened.”

Gaius nodded, and, at that, Percival left the chambers.

†††††

“Did he survive?” Arthur asked, worried for Gwaine’s well-being in spite of the fact that he was certainly dead now anyway.

Merlin nodded. “Yeah, he did. Took some time. He wasn’t well enough to see Gwen’s coronation, but after awhile he was back to serving as a knight.”

“Good,” Arthur breathed, feeling strangely eased by this revelation. He had a burning question, but he almost couldn’t bring himself to ask. “Merlin,” he said, raising his chin.

“What is it?”

“You said fourteen hundred years, give or take.”

“That’s how long it’s been, yeah.”

“Which is it? Give or take?”

“Arthur, today is the first day of July. 1914.”


	2. A Force Greater than You or I Can Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still by the Lake of Avalon, Merlin and Arthur have a very long overdue discussion about prophecy, and Merlin divulges more about what happened to Camelot in Arthur's absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two's title is said by Kilgharrah in _Sweet Dreams_.

“You’re mistaken, surely,” Arthur insisted.

“No, Arthur. I’ve kept painfully good track of the days, believe me.”

“I don’t understand.” Arthur’s breath was beginning to pick up in pace. “How is any of this possible? How am I here? Why now?”

“I know just as well as you do why you’re here now,” Merlin said, trying to calm Arthur down. “But I’ve known this whole time you were supposed to rise again.”

“What?”

“It was prophesied. You’re the Once and Future King, destined to return when Albion’s need is greatest.”

“And that means…?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why is _now_ Albion’s time of need?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“You must know _something_.”

“I told you all I have, Arthur.”

Arthur shot to his feet, pacing about the hut as he tried in vain to collect his thoughts. “Do you think something’s going to happen, then? Something that… threatens Albion?”

“Can’t imagine what.”

Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. “What am _I_ to do anyway?”

“I suppose that depends.”

“On?”

“On what happens.”

“Who’s to say it’s something _I_ can deal with?”

“An ancient prophecy, for one.”

“Merlin, that’s not reassuring.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, authoritative. He stood now too, crossing his arms and looking at his friend with pursed lips. When Arthur continued his pacing, Merlin, raising his voice, repeated, “ _Arthur_.”

Bringing his gaze to the ceiling and folding his arms across his chest just like Merlin, Arthur stopped in his tracks. He didn’t reply.

“I can’t see the future,” Merlin started, his voice low and his words deliberate. “But this is your destiny. Our destiny. Whatever comes, we’ll manage.”

Arthur finally looked over to Merlin. “You’re so sure about all this.”

Merlin shrugged. “All the other prophecies came true. Why not this?”

“The other prophecies.”

“Yeah, you know. Little things.”

“Such as?”

“You were destined to become king and unite the land of Albion, and I was destined to get you there.”

“Oh, right. Little things, then.”

“You were also destined to die at Camlann,” Merlin admitted. “Mordred—”

“ _Mordred_?” Arthur exclaimed. “You knew.”

“I knew. I told you when it happened I knew.”

“And with all your knowledge of these ‘prophecies,’ you never found out what exactly it is I’m here for?”

“No,” Merlin insisted. “Magic returned to Albion, like the prophecies said. This whole time I assumed you’d only be brought back if it started being endangered again. But nothing’s happened that I’m aware of, so I guess I was wrong.”

“Magic,” Arthur repeated, saying the word as if it could hurt someone.

“Gwen,” Merlin replied, taking his seat again. “She pieced together my secret while I was taking you to Avalon. Once she took over the throne, she lifted the ban.”

“Good,” Arthur said, now also returning to his seat. “Good, I’m glad to hear it.”

“Really?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.”

Arthur tapped his finger on his knee as he tried desperately to wrap his head around everything. “If I don’t know why Albion’s supposedly in need, what am I supposed to do about it? And why does it have to be _us_ anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin said again.

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“Trust me; I get it. I’ve been thinking the same thing since the day I first came to Camelot and had all this told to me.”

“So you didn’t just know, then. You knew from the beginning. The whole time, you knew I’d— _we’d_ have to face this.”

“Vaguely.”

Arthur’s gaze fell to his hands again.

“Of all the questions I’ve ever asked about destiny, Arthur, ‘why’ was always the most futile.”

There was a break in the conversation in which the concepts of prophecy and destiny and purpose weighed so heavily on them both that they couldn’t find it within themselves to keep the talking going. It was broken when Arthur, staring at his armour again and clutching tightly to Guinevere’s ring in his hands, asked, “What happened next?”

“What?”

“To Camelot, I mean. What happened when you told Guinevere I—” He cut himself off, simply exhaling deeply instead of finishing his thought as he looked over to Merlin.

“Oh,” Merlin said with a small smile. “A lot, I suppose.”

†††††

“The King,” Leon started, his tone regal. Still, he paused for a moment; he couldn’t control himself. Regaining his composure, he resumed his address to the court. “Is dead,” he finished. He let a heavy silence befall the court in Arthur’s honour before he added, “Long live the Queen.”

The court erupted in a chant to Guinevere’s good fortune. She sat elegantly upon her throne, trying to appear strong in front of her people but only able to focus on the reality of her future as sole ruler – a queen with no king to her side. She felt determined to make the best for Camelot’s people and its future, but in that moment she didn’t want to focus on herself.

Gwaine, of course, was nowhere to be seen. The same was to be said of Merlin, who was with Gwaine in case he needed anything. He was still so very weak, after all. Stubborn as ever, he’d insisted to Merlin that the two of them should be at the coronation to support Gwen, but Gaius had insisted he wasn’t ready. In the end, Merlin stayed back during the ceremony to give him company.

Arthur’s funeral was held the day after. The knights and Gwen wanted something special, and it took them a bit of planning to work it out in the absence of a body. No one held it against Merlin that he, for whatever reason he could give, didn’t make the days-long journey back to Camelot with Arthur’s stone-cold corpse at his side, but it did make their funeral planning a bit different than usual. In the end, they’d settled on giving Arthur a send-off that paralleled Lancelot’s years back. A pyre was built in the square, and, in place of Excalibur, the sword Arthur had trained on as a young boy was set atop it, wrapped in one of his old capes.

The only thing said at the funeral proper was Gwen, heading to set the pyre alight, tearfully shouting, “Long live the King.” Once she set fire to it and took her place back in line with her knights, everyone watched in weighted, mournful silence as grand billows of smoke rose triumphantly into the sky.

A few days following Gwen’s coronation and Arthur’s funeral, Gwaine was finally fit to return to his post. Or, at the very least, to leave Gaius’ chambers. He was welcomed with open arms, of course. It was good news to see him back in action. As much as everyone had faith in Gwen, good news was somewhat of a rare commodity while she tried to regain her balance and take control of the kingdom in the way they all saw within her.

†††††

“I shouldn’t have left,” Arthur sighed, twirling the ring in his fingers and still holding his gaze on his armour.

“Oh?” Merlin asked, trying to lighten the mood. “And what were you going to do about that?”

Arthur shot his attention to Merlin. His eyes were briefly full of anger, but it quickly subsided as he allowed himself to relax. “Shouldn’t have hesitated,” he laughed cynically, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling with a deep exhale.

“Hesitated?”

“With Mordred,” Arthur replied, his voice low. “I was _this_ close to running him through. Stopped short when I saw who he was.”

“You were friends.”

“Not by that point, we weren’t.”

“So then you showed him kindness he wouldn’t show you. Mercy isn’t something to be regretful of, Sire.”

“Sire,” Arthur scoffed. He shook his head and brought his eyes back down to Merlin. “Look where it got me.”

“You’re here now. And Camelot was in good hands in your absence.”

“Things could have gone very differently.”

“Perhaps.”

“What else happened?”

“After Gwen took over?”

“Yeah. You said she lifted my father’s ban on sorcery?”

“She did.”

“Well, how did it go, then?”

†††††

With all that had been going on, Gwen hadn’t been in to Gaius’ chambers to check in on Gwaine. She’d been so caught up with arrangements for herself and Arthur that it slipped her mind to do so. Merlin, to the contrary, had hardly left. Gwaine kept telling him to go to Arthur’s funeral, but he couldn’t find it in him. He’d already seen him off once as it was; he didn’t want to put himself through that again – especially not with all of Camelot feeling his pain around him. Because of this, Merlin and Gwen hadn’t yet seen each other until a day or two following Arthur’s funeral, when Gwen finally felt at ease enough to start picking up her duties.

There was a gentle knock on the door followed by Gwen’s voice calling, “Gaius?”

As Gaius wasn’t in at the time, Merlin answered instead. “It’s open,” he replied. “You can come in.”

Gwen pushed the door open slowly for fear that Gwaine may be resting. Seeing him and Merlin sitting together, both in seemingly good strength, he relaxed a little and smiled at them. “How have you been?” she asked, a blanket question to both, as she entered the chambers and stood before them, tall and regal but still the humble Gwen they knew.

“Gwaine’s nearly recovered,” Merlin said, patting Gwaine on the shoulder.

“Gaius thinks I still need a few days,” Gwaine added. He rolled his eyes. “I think he’s being too cautious.”

“If Gaius wants you to take time, take time,” Gwen pleaded. “Camelot’s grieved enough these last days.”

“Of course, My Lady,” Gwaine obliged. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“It’s all our loss.”

“Of course,” he repeated. A sharp pain shot up his spine – one of the less pleasant remaining side effects from everything he’d been put through. Once it subsided, he looked to Merlin and said, “I’ll leave you two alone.” With a laugh, he added, “You have more to talk about than just how I’m doing.” A bit encumbered, he stood up and disappeared into Merlin’s room, leaving Gwen and Merlin together for the first time since she’d discovered his secret.

“Merlin,” Gwen said softly, taking the seat Gwaine had occupied.

“My Lady.”

Gwen nudged his shoulder. “Come on, Merlin. You don’t have to be so formal.”

He smiled at her. “I know,” he assured. He looked around at Gaius’ chambers. “Who’d have thought we’d end up here?”

“In Gaius’ chambers?” Gwen teased. “You’ve been here for years.”

Merlin chuckled. “We’ve all changed, but this place never has.”

“Something soothing about that, isn’t there?”

Merlin nodded, the somber air returning to the room. “How have you been taking it? I know I haven’t been there for you.”

“Nonsense. You were tending to Gwaine; that’s just as important,” Gwen consoled. “It’s been difficult, you know? It’s a strange feeling to walk through that palace and think of it as my own without him.”

Merlin looked to his hands.

“How are _you_ holding up, Merlin?”

“Alright.”

“Nothing you want to tell me?”

Merlin met her eyes with his now. “Gaius said you already knew.”

“I guess I just wanted to hear it from you.”

Merlin sat up straighter. “Yes. I have magic. I’ve had it since I was born.”

“All those years, hiding it from Uther. And Arthur. All of us.”

“I wanted you to know.”

“You don’t have to explain anything, Merlin.”

“What do you plan to do? About the ban, I mean.”

“Well, I can hardly uphold such a law under the circumstances.”

Merlin’s eyes glittered with excitement. The day he’d awaited since he’d arrived was here; it could only have been better if Arthur had been there for it. “You’re going to allow magic in Camelot again?”

“Did Arthur know?”

“Before he died, yes. I told him.”

“And?”

“And I think he made his peace with it.”

“Then of course I’ll allow magic in Camelot again. I can’t think of a better way to honour his memory than to allow you and people like you to live without fear.”

Without a thought, Merlin took Gwen in an embrace. She breathed a sigh of relief and nostalgia as she reciprocated. Once they pulled away, Merlin said, “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that.”

“It’s the least I can do, Merlin. In light of everything.”

†††††

“It went well, then,” Arthur presumed, though tentative.

Merlin nodded. “Exceedingly.”

“Good. Wish I could have seen it.”

“We all did.”

“She knew I would have been proud of her, yeah? Every decision she made – I don’t know what they were, but I know her. They were the right ones.”

“She knew, Arthur. No one would have let her forget that. Especially not herself. She ruled Camelot the way you’d always dreamed of it being done. With grace and honour, with mercy and respect. She was a fair hand. You wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

“I never doubted her.” Arthur sighed as he looked back at Gwen’s ring. “What did you do, Merlin? Did you stay in Camelot?”

“Of course. I served in the palace under Gwen until her final days as queen.”

“And then?”

“Then I came here.”

“And you’ve been here since?”

“Yes.”

“Must have been lonely.”

“Better than making new relationships just to outlive them all too.”

“Of course.”

“Destiny, huh?”

“It’s all a bit tragic for my taste.”

“Maybe this is the time we get to change that.”


	3. The Terrible Retribution You Would Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of July in 1914, and global events start attracting Merlin and Arthur's interest. Hellbent on fulfilling his destiny, Arthur drags Merlin to the frontlines of World War I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three's title is said by Nimueh in _Excalibur_.

Everything had been rather peaceful for the most part in the days following Arthur’s return. It was beginning to drive him and Merlin a little mad as they tried to work out what great need Albion had that prompted his revival. They got their answer towards the end of the month, when Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia. Within the week, Britain – Albion – was involved.

“The world is going to war,” echoed throughout the lands as everyone, including Merlin and Arthur, geared up for a tough road ahead. Nothing to this scale had happened before; no one knew what was to be expected other than the sharp inevitability of innumerable casualties.

In Arthur’s view, this, a war to end all wars, was certainly why he was called from Avalon. “What greater need could Albion have than this?” he asked. By this time, Merlin and Arthur had gotten a place in Bristol. If they were to be privy to Albion’s needs, Arthur insisted they be a little less recluse. It looked to him like it paid off.

Merlin had more reservations than Arthur. The minute Arthur heard a great war was on the horizon, he was ready to jump into action. It appeared even death couldn’t take that from him. Merlin, however, didn’t want to rush into things. He’d seen battle claim Arthur’s life once in the past, and he wasn’t keen on it happening again. “You really think that’s it? You were brought back to life because Serbia orchestrated an assassination?”

“Got a better idea?”

“It seems a little… smalltime.”

“Does it?”

“Just a little.”

“Merlin, you’ve heard the talk. The _world_ is bracing for war. It’s hardly ‘smalltime.’”

“Perhaps.”

Arthur chuckled, nudging Merlin’s shoulder. “I told you not to change,” he quipped. “Guess you took it to heart.”

“I’m serious, Arthur.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. Merlin was sat at their dining table, and Arthur had been standing by the window until then, when he decided to take a seat across from Merlin and rein in the conversation. “If a war with the world isn’t big enough to bring me here, then what do you think is?”

“I think we should be careful. That’s all.”

“When am I not careful, Merlin?”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Just listen, would you? I don’t want us to go running to the frontlines if that’s not what our purpose is here.”

“Then what do you want us to do? Sit back? Hardly seems in the spirit of the prophecy.”

“Maybe the prophecy should be damned.”

“Merlin.”

“Arthur.”

“With or without you, Merlin, I’m going to war. If this _is_ what I was brought back to do, I think I should probably do it. Besides, I commanded a military before. Battle’s my strong point.”

“Is it? Seemed to go so well for you last time.”

“Glad to see you’ve kept your optimism.”

“Do you even know the first thing about Twentieth Century war? They don’t fight with swords and maces anymore, Arthur. You realise that, right?”

“So it’ll be a learning curve.”

‡‡‡‡‡

He wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, but, after days of wearing Merlin down, Arthur got Merlin to agree to sign up for service with him. As far as Arthur was concerned, he, personally, didn’t have a choice regardless; the government itself wasn’t imposing mandatory enlistment, but he still felt nostalgically dutybound. No amount of protestation would have stopped him. Merlin ultimately caved because he figured that, if there was no keeping Arthur from going, the least he should do was accompany.

Arthur had been right about the learning curve. Artillery had advanced so far beyond what he could have ever imagined – let alone strategy and hierarchy and requisites. At first he had been rather sceptical about how much Albion would really benefit by he and Merlin being just two in thousands; he didn’t see how, in those numbers, they’d make much difference. Now that he and Merlin were being familiarised with what war looked like fourteen hundred years after their prime, Arthur was beginning to realise how fortunate it was, for everyone’s sakes, that the two of them weren’t at the helm of anything. It still raised questions for them about what Arthur’s, and by extension Merlin’s, grand purpose could be, however.

“Perhaps they just need two extra soldiers to win,” Merlin teased. “Years from now, the people will go on endlessly about how Albion would have been lost had they had just two men fewer.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

At this point, it was September, and the British armed forces were preparing to join with the French to cut off German forces advancing through France – Merlin and Arthur among them. Merlin laughed. “Alright, then. What’s your guess? What is it you think we’re going to achieve?”

“You’re the one with the all-encompassing knowledge of destiny.”

“It’s been fourteen centuries, Arthur.”

“You still probably have a better guess than I do. I didn’t know _any_ of this.”

“Fair point,” Merlin conceded. He looked around at all the soldiers they stood amongst. “You know, I always used my magic behind the scenes back then. Barely anything went on that didn’t involve me somehow.”

“Good for you, Merlin. It’s a bit late to be seeking commendation.”

“Arthur,” Merlin scolded, trying to change the tone of the conversation to one more serious. “Who knows? Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to do? Use my magic to… sway the tides in Albion’s favour?”

“You think so?”

“Good a guess as any.”

“Alright, say that’s true. Then what am I here for? I don’t have magic.”

“Couldn’t say. Although, really, I wouldn’t even _be_ here if you weren’t so insistent we enlist.”

“So?”

“Destiny’s a strange thing, Arthur. I always thought you personally would be the one to bring magic back to Camelot and the rest of Albion, but it was Gwen.”

“So… you’re saying I was _such_ a bad king I couldn’t meet a predetermined destiny?” Arthur asked, playing offended though his smile said he was amused.

“No,” Merlin retorted. “No, obviously not. Gwen was only on the throne because you married her. And the five kingdoms were united under _you_ , not under Gwen.”

“You think prophecy works indirectly?”

“I suppose it must.”

“Let me get this straight, then. Every prophecy you’ve heard about _me_ is really only tangentially about me.”

“When you put it that way—”

“Except, of course, the one with Mordred at Camlann.”

“I could be wrong.”

Arthur laughed. He looked as if he was about to say something, but they were interrupted by another young soldier approaching. “Mordred at Camlann? You two still on about those legends, then?” he asked, entertained. “Don’t you know any other stories?”

“They’re classics,” Arthur said with a small shrug. He and Merlin, who had been sitting on the floor, stood up to greet the man, a friend they’d made whilst training. “Can’t go wrong with classics, Henry.”

Shaking Arthur’s hand and then Merlin’s, Henry said, “Your parents taught you a much different version than I grew up hearing.”

“We know,” Merlin sighed.

“I think I like my family’s better. Something much more interesting about a wise old man for a sorcerer. Better than some clumsy kid, at least.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him,” Arthur teased.

Merlin gave Arthur an irritated smile, and Henry cleared his throat before looking at the night sky over them and saying, “We should probably be getting rest. Only God in Heaven knows what’ll happen after the Germans get through with us.”

“You sound so hopeful,” Merlin joked.

Henry shrugged. “Not in my blood,” he replied. “Arthur, Andy,” he saluted before heading off to find a place to sleep.

Arthur nudged Merlin’s shoulder. “So, Andrew. Where’s the wise old man everyone seems to have mistaken you for?”

Merlin shook his head. “Andrew,” he scoffed. “Cannot believe I let you talk me into that.”

“What? You’re supposed to walk around with your real name? Like that wouldn’t raise any questions?”

“You do.”

“My name is a name people actually have. Besides, I changed my last name.”

As a precaution, they’d assumed new identities. They were still unsure of what they and their destiny meant exactly for the war and, resultantly, decided it best to keep a low profile. Thus, Merlin had become Andrew Merlin and Arthur had become Arthur de Bois. At least as far as anyone around them was concerned. It may or may not have been necessary, but at any rate Arthur was getting some amusement out of it.

“Henry’s right, by the way,” Merlin said, shifting the conversation. Things around them were starting to wind down as the soldiers prepared to sleep as long as they were able.

“About?”

“Arthur, I don’t know if serving in this war is our destiny or not, but it really doesn’t matter because we’re here now. We don’t have much of a choice anymore but to take it bloody seriously, do we?”

Arthur gave Merlin a smile – an excited one, which surely made him the only soldier around to feel as he did. “That’s the spirit, Merlin,” he praised. He surveyed the area before adding on, “Besides, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “If we weren’t cursed before, we sure as hell are now.”

“Just doing my part.”

‡‡‡‡‡

Gunfire awoke them – a rather unfamiliar sound, as it was. Sure, they’d gotten weapons training, but it was all still so much to wrap their heads around.

“Andy! Arthur!” beckoned Henry, running over to them and jostling them each rather violently. “Come on. Someone’s started firing; couldn’t say whether it was us or them.”

“Henry, not for nothing, you know, I get you’re trying to help, but we heard the shots just fine. They’re a bit loud,” Merlin remarked.

Within no time, all three were in combat. It was a blur to them – an experience none of them could have prepared for. The German forces were trying to make their way through France; the French had split them open, and, at the end of the day, it had all led to this. Not one among Henry, Arthur, and Merlin had any familiarity with war of this style; Henry didn’t come from soldiers, and Arthur and Merlin’s unacquaintedness was something of a given. This more automated, less intimate fighting was far faster and chaotic than combat of their day. It felt less for the three of them like they were actually fighting in the First Battle of Marne and more like it was all just taking place around them. The whole thing, several days of casualties, simultaneously felt as if it had passed them by in seconds and dragged on through eternity.

By the end of it all, the Anglo-French had claimed victory and trenches were beginning to stretch as far as the eye could see. And Merlin and Arthur finally believed they had an approximation of what they were in for.


	4. Honest and Brave and Truehearted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur's new circle of friends is introduced. Whether they can actually compare with Gwen, Gaius, and the knights remains to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four's title is said by Merlin in _The Sword in the Stone: Part One_.

Following Marne, the Western Front was launched into trench warfare. That November, in Belgium, a month of fighting ended in but a stalemate that cost all sides countless lives. Merlin and Arthur, however, were still in France, so they had only heard of the carnage second-hand. They hadn’t yet seen any further action quite like their first battle since it had finally ended.

Instead, they and the other soldiers were more preoccupied keeping up morale in the trenches, a feat that wasn’t very easily achieved.

Arthur and Merlin had, by November, created something of a circle of companions. It was rather contentious for them, being as they couldn’t exactly divulge anything about who they were – not unless they wanted to do quite a lot of explaining. Still, they managed. When their new comrades asked for stories, they’d simply refuse to talk or, if pushed hard enough, they’d transplant tales from Camelot into the present; usually Merlin had to take this up. He may have been a recluse for the first decade of the century, but he was at least around. He had a better grasp than Arthur, who didn’t even know where to begin.

“We’ve heard plenty about Andy’s life,” Ira, one of their friends, said as he tried to pry a story out of Arthur. “Come on, Arthur. You must have done something in the last twenty years.”

“I really, really did not,” Arthur insisted. “I may as well have been dead.”

Merlin scoffed, rolling his eyes. “He doesn’t like to bring up the past,” he chimed in, trying to back Arthur up.

It didn’t work. “Was it something bad, then? Something happen you’re afraid to talk about?” Ira asked, now seeming more intrigued than before.

“Perhaps that means it wouldn’t be the best fodder to raise spirits over,” Arthur replied with a shrug.

Ira gave him a smile and shook his head. “We’re going to get something out of you before this war is over, Arthur. Mark my words.”

“Challenge accepted.”

“I’m not even quite convinced what we’ve gotten out of Andy here is all the truth,” another solider in their group, named Robert, interjected.

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked, getting defensive.

“It’s strange is all.”

“Oh, really?”

“You claim you two knew each other from way back when, but you don’t hold yourselves like you did.”

“Meaning?”

“You’re far more… casual than he is. You’d think Arthur thought George V was his father for how he talks.”

“I like to maintain some propriety,” Arthur countered.

“I’m sure that’s all it is.”

“Robert, I mean this in the kindest possible way, my friend: You’d make a terrible detective,” Merlin teased.

“You would say that, wouldn’t you? Trying to put us off the scent,” Ira chimed back in.

“What _scent_?” Merlin scoffed. “I’m not trying to put you off anything because there’s nothing for me to put you off.”

“You two must have really gotten into some trouble together.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“We’re trying to, though, aren’t we?”

“Fine, fine,” Arthur conceded. “You’re right.”

“Arthur,” Merlin hissed.

“What? They can know.”

Merlin gave Arthur a sceptical look. “Are you sure?”

“What harm can it do?” Arthur looked around the circle, now addressing Ira, Robert, and Henry and choosing to ignore Merlin’s tense reluctance. “No, we didn’t grow up together.”

Merlin breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“Why did he say you did then?” Henry asked.

“He didn’t,” Arthur protested. “He said we were friends before the war. And we were. Doesn’t mean we had to grow up together, does it?”

“Suppose not.”

“Merlin worked for…” Arthur trailed off as he tried to come up with something believable. After a few seconds, he shook his head and restarted. “Merlin was my father’s employee.”

“Your father’s employee?” Robert laughed.

“You say that like it’s an impossibility.”

“I thought you said you grew up a hunter,” Henry questioned.

“ _I_ did, yeah. Had to pass time somehow, didn’t I? My father was…” Arthur had to stop to choose his words again. “He was a very important man, is all.”

“Bit vague.”

“Regardless, _that’s_ how we knew each other.”

“And why he’s so much more pompous and arrogant than I am,” Merlin added.

Arthur shoved Merlin’s shoulder. The pair looked around the group to see if their tale had landed. Robert was still looking rather unsure about them, but before he could act on his suspicion Ira said, “Fine, then.”

“You know we’ll get the rest of it out of you someday,” Robert played.

“That’s the whole of it,” Arthur scoffed.

“Really doubt that.”

Combative and intrusive as all the soldiers around them could be, it was a wonder to Merlin and Arthur how they’d managed to put together their collective. As much as the three of them liked to push for more information, Ira, Robert, and Henry were far more trusting than the others in the trenches; most of them preferred to keep a bit of distance. They found it more off-putting than interesting that Merlin and Arthur refused to go into much detail about their lives. It was, in fairness, a bit odd; many of the soldiers had found themselves recounting their glory days to one another to ease the tensions and provide a little distraction from the war. For Merlin and Arthur to both be so reticent about their pasts didn’t tend to sit well.

Henry was the only one they had brought in before Marne. He’d met them at training, and, to Merlin and Arthur’s surprise, he hit it off with them quite well. Merlin wouldn’t say it to Arthur, but Henry reminded him quite a lot of Guinevere at times, if rougher around the edges. He was laid-back and playful by nature, but when the time called for it he was able to quickly become sincere and determined. Merlin wasn’t quite sure if Arthur could sense Gwen’s soul in Henry like he could, but for him it was about as clear as day.

†††††

“Is this really necessary?” asked Merlin, following Arthur’s lead but not liking where it was headed.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Arthur replied shortly.

“You don’t think they’ll be more than willing to show us how this all works? They’re not exactly turning people away from service. Pretty sure we’re not the only ones who haven’t used any of this stuff.”

“No, but we’re probably the only ones who’ve never heard of any of it.”

It was late August, and Merlin and Arthur had just arrived for their training to begin. The night before, Arthur decided to sneak them into the armoury to get a feel for what the weaponry of the time was like. Perhaps it was the former warrior in him, but he wasn’t comfortable being caught completely by surprise.

“If we get caught?”

“Didn’t think that far ahead, Merlin.” Arthur turned back to face him. “So maybe we don’t get caught.”

“Of course,” Merlin conceded, though mockingly, as Arthur resumed making his way through to find the arms. Merlin turned and looked behind himself briefly, still stood in the same place. “Well, if that’s your plan, we may need to come up with something better.”

“Always so nervous.”

Merlin shook his head, irritably, and ran up behind Arthur, taking him by the shoulder once he’d caught up and stopping him in his tracks. “Would you just look?”

Arthur sighed, but he obliged. Seeing a light around a corner towards the end of the corridor from which they’d come, Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm and pulled him to the wall, standing straight and stiff against it as if that gave them cover.

The light began to approach them, and Merlin noticed Arthur briefly make for a sword that wasn’t there. He smiled for a second before the nearing footsteps brought him back into the moment.

The light was being carried by a young man, who stopped in front of them, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Bit late to be wandering the armoury, isn’t it?”

Merlin looked between Arthur and the man quickly. “We were just—”

The man held up his finger to cut Merlin off. “Whatever it is you’re getting into, I don’t want to know.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “What are you here for, then?”

“Heard you leave the barracks. Thought it was odd.”

“So you followed us?”

The man shrugged. “You seemed a little… disoriented, I suppose. Thought you could use some backup,” he said with a smile. “I dealt with the guards out front. You can take what time you need. Not too much, though.”

Arthur smiled at the man and extended a hand to him. “Arthur,” he introduced.

The man shook Arthur’s hand firmly. “Henry,” he replied.

†††††

Robert and Ira came as a package deal. They were cousins, but from the way they acted on their own they’d be easily taken for brothers. They were the only two men from their village soldiering in the war, and they were just about joined at the hip.

Ira was a few years older than Robert and much more trusting by nature. He was they type of person to see good in everyone, and it made him fiercely loyal to anyone he connected with. He’d been told a few times his faith was to a fault, but it never swayed his course.

Robert, to the contrary, was much more observant and private – more discerning as well. He humoured Ira’s impulses, but he did so reservedly. Whatever childlike innocence it was that let Ira believe everyone worthy of his fidelity, Robert had none of it. Once he’d warmed up to someone, perhaps the same commitment would grow, but it wasn’t immediate in the way of his cousin.

Henry had made their acquaintance first; as he told it to Merlin and Arthur, they’d saved his life at Marne. None of them ever gave any specific details – possibly as a counter to Merlin and Arthur’s continued refusal to indulge their enquiries about their pasts. Still, whatever exactly had transpired brought the three of them close, and Henry, determined to make friends out of everyone, had all but insisted Merlin and Arthur be brought in.

†††††

“When you say they ‘saved your life,’” Arthur started. “You mean… what exactly?”

“I mean I would have died, but they were there, so I didn’t,” Henry replied. “It’s all quite self-explanatory, really.”

“Sure, yeah. Just curious is all.”

“You’ll all get on. I swear it.”

“How would you know who Andrew and I get on with?”

“I’m psychic.”

“Oh, so is Andrew.”

“Arthur,” Merlin scoffed, shoving his friend lightheartedly.

“Lord knows how long we’ll all be in these trenches,” Henry interrupted. “Thought it best we make some friends.”

“Didn’t realise the three of us were such a unit,” Arthur teased.

“If you want to be belligerent and spend an indeterminate amount of time alone here, Arthur, be my guest.” Henry stopped walking, so Arthur and Merlin did as well, standing behind him as he waved towards two approaching soldiers. “Robert! Ira!” he beckoned.

The pair picked up their pace a bit, stopping once they stood before Henry, Merlin, and Arthur. “Henry,” spoke the shorter one on the left. He looked between Arthur and Merlin before returning his attention to Henry. Gesturing towards Merlin then Arthur, he asked, “These your boys?”

Henry nodded. “Robert,” he said, shaking the hand of the soldier who had spoken. As he then shook the taller man’s hand, he said, “Ira.” He didn’t turn around to confirm who was on which side before gesturing behind him to Merlin and saying, “Arthur.” With a matching motion towards Arthur, he said, “Andrew.”

Arthur shook his head and drew a circle in the air with his finger as he chuckled, “Got it backwards.” He reached his hand out toward Robert. “ _I’m_ Arthur.”

“Pleasure.”

†††††

That had been nearly three months ago, now that it was going on December. In that time, they’d only expanded their group by one additional person – a service nurse named Clara.

A British-born daughter of two French ex-patriates, Clara had been groomed to be a nurse since before she could remember; just about all the women in her family had done it. She was here, in France ironically enough, working with her mother and her three aunts to provide care to wounded soldiers. Most of the time for the last few weeks, it was less patching up battle wounds and more tending to diseases or other conditions brought by living in such close, inhospitable quarters.

She entered their circle of friends roughly a month later, when she also helped Robert and Ira through a nasty infection that had circulated the trench at the time. This wasn’t, however, her first interaction with any of the five. Incidentally, she’d first met Merlin and Arthur at Marne – the one time so far in the war she’d seen to battle carnage.

†††††

In the midst of the fight, a fire had broken out that just barely caught Arthur’s arm. He was so hyped up on the rush being back on the battlefront, he’d hardly even noticed until Merlin pointed out he’d been bleeding and maintained he get tended to. Eventually he caved; he wanted to stay, but, as the battle was drawing to a close by that point anyway, he chose to listen to Merlin’s pleas. Still, Merlin followed him to the medical tent just to be completely sure he’d actually gone.

“What happened to you?” asked a woman packing gauze into a man’s stomach. “Is it serious?”

“Not very,” Arthur replied.

“He’s been burned,” Merlin explained. “Didn’t seem too bad, though.”

The woman nodded. “Clara,” she yelled. A young woman came running in through the back of the tent. “ _Peux-tu l’aider s’il te plaît_?”

“ _Oui, maman_ ,” she said, briskly walking towards Merlin and Arthur. She gestured to an empty bed. “Have a seat.”

Arthur nodded and complied, only now beginning to feel the sting of his wound. He rolled up his sleeve to allow Clara to access it; within a few moments, she had it bandaged good as new. “Off you go, then,” she said.

“Thank you…” Arthur trailed off, trying to recall her name. When it came to him, he tacked on, “Clara.”

“Doing my job, sir.”

“Arthur.”

“Arthur,” she repeated. She looked to Merlin as if to silently prompt his introduction.

“Oh, uh, Andrew,” he said quickly.

“Charmed,” she said. Her smile was genuine, but her tone was sharp. She looked around where Merlin stood to see two more soldiers entering the tent. “Love to stand around and talk, but there’s work to be done.”

†††††

There it was – their new group of companions. Perhaps Robert, Ira, Clara, and Henry couldn’t quite fill the void left by the knights and Gwen forever, but they would do just fine for the time being. Better substitutes than nothing at all.


	5. Hidden to All But a Very Few

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to raise spirits as their second battle approaches, Merlin tells Arthur some shocking news about Guinevere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter five's title is said by Taliesin in _The Crystal Cave_.

Things remained slow for the forces up until March the following year. They’d been moving to launch an offensive; armed with an air-tight strategy and the strength of an empire, the British – including Merlin, Arthur, and their circle – arrived in the village of Neuve-Chappelle.

On the 10th, Merlin and Arthur would see their second major battle. This time, they were much more prepared – or at least they felt so. They had a fight under their belts now; they knew vaguely what war of this era looked like.

The eve of, Merlin and Arthur sat together in the trench, anticipative and on edge. Marne hadn’t been exactly friendly, whether Arthur would say otherwise or not. Robert, Ira, Henry, and Clara had all retired for the evening hoping to get as much rest before morning as they could. It gave the two of them the room they needed to properly continue discussing Camelot’s affairs in the wake of Arthur’s death.

Hell, anything could be better than sitting in silence waiting for bloodshed.

“Did Guinevere ever remarry?” Arthur asked, somewhat solemn despite trying his damnedest not to sound it.

Merlin looked up at him then looked down to his hands and shook his head. “No,” he replied. “No, she never did.”

Arthur scoffed. “I thought that would be what I wanted you to say,” he said. “Although, to hear it now, it honestly makes it all bleaker. If you can believe it.”

“I can.”

“Maybe it would have been best she had. She deserved to move on.”

“She didn’t want to. If Gwen had married again, it would have been for politics, and there wasn’t an opportunity of the sort.” Merlin reached out and put a hand to Arthur’s knee. “Even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t have found it in her to marry for love again.”

“But you see, that’s my point, Merlin. I wish she had. Guinevere is—was… too full of love to not share it with someone.”

“She did share it, Arthur. With her people, with her court. You’re saying you wish otherwise, but I know you. Admit it or not, in your heart you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. And it’s alright to think that.”

“Perhaps.”

“Besides, you weren’t _really_ gone. Not entirely.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Someone must have forgotten to give _me_ that information, then.”

Merlin chuckled lightly. “You know what I mean.”

“I… really do not.”

“Arthur, I don’t believe there’s a person in history who loved Camelot more than you did. Your presence was never going to leave that land.”

Arthur didn’t respond. He simply looked up to the stars above them.

“And one more thing.”

Arthur brought his gaze back down to Merlin, now more inquisitive than mournful. “What do you mean?”

Merlin couldn’t help himself but smile at this revelation. It was one he’d been saving for the perfect moment.

†††††

For a week or two following her christening, Gwen had been feeling under the weather. Everyone had taken it to be lingering grief – the woman had lost her husband, after all. But when it wouldn’t subside even as the kingdom moved on, it became apparent it was more than that.

Given another month or so, it all fell into place.

“ _Pregnant_?” Gwen exclaimed, looking at Gaius with both fear and the deepest excitement she’d ever known. “You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” Gaius affirmed. “You’re with child, Gwen. There’s no other explanation for it.”

“I thought I’d just been putting on weight,” she chuckled. “A _child_?”

“Congratulations, My Lady.”

She took him in an embrace. As she pulled away, her expression fell. “It’s Arthur’s.”

“I’d hope.”

She took a seat now, feeling overwhelmed both by the news and by the pregnancy itself. “I can’t believe he won’t be here to see this.”

Gaius sat next to her, putting his arm around her. “I know it’s difficult, My Lady.”

“It’s more than difficult.”

“Gwen, this is news to celebrate, not to mourn. Surely Arthur would see it that way.”

She wiped a tear from her eye before it could fall. Nodding, she replied, “Yes. I know he would.”

“Perhaps you should lay down for a little while.”

She stood up, and he gave her the support she needed to do so. “I think you’re right,” she agreed. “Thank you, Gaius. I’m sorry to have brought down the mood,” she added with a small laugh. “It feels like everything’s happening at once.”

“I understand, My Lady.”

She gave him another grateful smile before turning to leave the chambers, running into Merlin on her way out.

“Gwen,” Merlin said, though she was already halfway down the hall by the time he’d gotten it out.

“Merlin!” she called back, though she didn’t turn around.

†††††

“Guinevere had a child,” Arthur stated, giving Merlin a distrusting look.

“Yes.”

“My child.”

“Your child.”

“ _My_ child.”

“Is it so unbelievable?”

“Are you making this up?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. I never know.”

“She was as surprised as you are.”

“Camelot did have an heir, then.”

“Yeah, it did.”

Arthur stared around at the trench before looking back to Merlin, incredulity still glowing in his eyes. “So you’re telling me I’m a _father_.”

“Sort of.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Looks like my mother and I have that in common.”

“The difference is, Arthur, your child grew up knowing all about you.”

“Really?” he asked, sounding hopeful.

“Yes, really.”

“Good to hear.”

“Gwen wouldn’t have dreamt of letting your daughter gr—”

“Daughter?”

“The child was a girl.”

Arthur smiled, looking at his hands. “What was her name?”

†††††

When Gwen gave birth to her child, it was, naturally, months following her coronation and Arthur’s funeral. All the excitement of the baby granted her, and her kingdom, the morale boost needed to get things running smoothly again. Whenever she felt particularly down about everything, she could simply hold her stomach or look in a mirror.

While carrying his child, Arthur was never too far from Gwen, and she was beyond grateful for that.

Holding her daughter in her arms the day she was born was probably the first genuine happiness her court had seen in her since the dust had settled. Watching her cradle the infant girl, Merlin caught a glimpse of the Gwen he’d met those years ago. He was more excited than he could put into words to have her back.

“What’s her name?” he asked. Gwen had been in Gaius’ chambers for quite some time, as he wanted to keep an eye on both her and her daughter.

She had been so caught up in her elation that she hadn’t noticed Merlin enter the chambers, so his voice startled him at first. “Merlin!” she breathed. “You surprised me.”

“Sorry,” he replied. He took a seat on the edge of the bed she was laying in. Looking first down to the baby and then back up to Gwen, he asked again, “What’s her name?”

Gwen looked up to Merlin as if she was about to say something. At an epiphany, she stopped herself.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Gwen?”

“You know, now that you mention it, I never gave her one.”

“I’d suggest doing that eventually. Think she’ll appreciate it.”

Gwen laughed playfully and looked back down at her beautiful baby girl. “I want it to be… sentimental.”

“What? Like naming her after Arthur?”

Gwen shook her head. “No,” she replied, her voice distant as she was somewhat lost in her thoughts trying to come up with an idea.

“Not good enough for you?”

She laughed again. “No, Merlin. She already has his surname.”

“Fair,” Merlin conceded. “So then who?”

“Could name her after my father.”

“Tom?”

Gwen pursed her lips. “Maybe not.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll think of someone worthy,” Merlin assured. “Lancelot, perhaps. Or maybe Ely—"

“Elyan?”

Merlin tilted his head to the side, watching her think.

Gwen gave her daughter the warmest smile Merlin had ever seen before she shot her head up and looked at him with something of determination. “Elianna.”

“Elianna,” Merlin repeated. “Princess Elianna Pendragon of Camelot.”

She gave him a questioning look. “Do you like it?”

Merlin nodded, beaming.

She inhaled deeply before following up. “Do you think Arthur would like it?”

“I think he’d love it,” Merlin assured. He stood up and motioned to his chambers. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

†††††

Arthur was speechless now as he stared at his hands, trying to process what Merlin had revealed to him.

“Well?” Merlin prompted.

“Well, what?”

“Was I right? Did you like it?”

“Elianna?”

“Well, yeah.”

Arthur nodded, wistful. “Yes,” he said. “Of course I like it. It’s beautiful.”

“Good.”

“What was she like? Elianna, I mean.”

“She took after you quite a bit.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve never met anyone more headstrong than your daughter,” Merlin replied. “Except maybe you.”

Arthur scoffed. “Caring—like her mother?”

“Yes, Arthur. Elianna was wonderful. You’d have been very proud of her.”

“Still am.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Merlin.”

They could just now see a glint of sunshine rising on the horizon.


	6. A Way to Arrest Its Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of their own is held up in the medical tent, and while the others are content to allow the service nurses to do their jobs and heal him the old-fashioned way, Merlin has a different plan in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter six's title is said by Gaius in _A Lesson in Vengeance_.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Clara breathed, sitting around the circle with Merlin, Arthur, and the rest of their group, excluding Robert, who was otherwise occupied. “Those tents were fuller than they can handle.”

Neuve Chappelle hadn’t gone quite to plan, so for the time being they were all stuck there, wasting away in those godforsaken trenches for an indefinite amount of time. The fighting itself had only lasted four days, but in that time over ten thousand men had been slain; in her capacity as a nurse, Clara had been forced to try and help the rest of the medics keep up with demand. It was two nights after the firing itself had settled, and she was just now able to take some time to herself.

“Any word about Robert?” asked Ira, his eyes wide.

She shook her head. “Nothing yet, I’m afraid.”

He nodded, looking down to his hands.

“Last I heard, he was breathing – talking, even. I’m sure it’ll be alright. These things just take time.”

“What happened?” asked Merlin. He hadn’t been near Robert during the battle, so this was the first he’d heard anything was wrong.

She shrugged. “He took some fire is all. To the shoulder. I never got a look at him, so I don’t know how bad it was.”

“Well, do you know which tent he’s in?”

“What for?”

“Just to pay him a visit, that’s all. See how he’s holding up,” Merlin looked over to Ira for a second then back to Clara. “Might ease his mind a bit.”

“Merlin, I know you’re trying to help, but the nurses are flooded. There are still so many wounded, and soon we’ll have been in this same damn trench so long everyone will start showing up with diseases. They could really use some space.”

“No, of course,” Merlin agreed. “I understand.”

She looked over Ira, whose distress had placed something of a cloud over the whole group’s mood. With a sigh, she said, “I’ll see what I can do, how about? Even if the others have his treatment handled, I can check in on him.”

Ira looked up to her and nodded. “That’d be lovely. Thank you, Clara.”

“It’s nothing,” she affirmed. She reached out to put a hand to his knee and looked up into his eyes. Playfully, she told him, “No harm will come to your cousin on his watch. Tough son of a bitch, that one.”

He scoffed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” she replied. After a beat, she got to her feet and brushed herself off. “Might take some time for me to find him. There are just… so many soldiers to go through.”

“Thank you, Clara,” Ira repeated, at least a little less despondent than he had been.

She gave him an encouraging smile before turning to make for the tents. Merlin watched her closely to see if he could gauge where Robert might be.

“What do you think, Andy?” asked a voice.

Merlin didn’t respond, too focused on Clara and Robert.

“Andrew?” asked the same voice.

Merlin responded this time, as he felt someone touch his arm. “What?” he asked, looking up to Henry, who had been the one trying to get his attention.

“I said, ‘What do you think?’”

“About?”

“Clara. And Ira.”

“Shut up, Henry,” Ira scoffed.

“Oh,” Merlin breathed. “I don’t know.”

“Come _on_ ,” Henry laughed. “Anyone who’s ever spoken to a woman knows she was flirting with him.”

“About his wounded cousin, no less,” Arthur chimed in. “Quite bold, if you ask me.”

“She’s just being friendly,” Ira maintained.

“If that’s what you think,” Henry conceded, though his mischievous smirk was saying the opposite.

Ira shook his head. “I’m going to get some sleep,” he said curtly. With a roll of his eyes, he added, “God knows we’ve earned it.”

“Now we’re on the same page,” Henry agreed. Together, he and Ira stood up and looked around to see if there was a suitable place open. Noticing Arthur and Merlin had stayed put, he asked, “Arthur? Andy? Coming along?”

Arthur clearly made to stand, but Merlin grabbed his arm to stop him, looking up to Henry and saying, “No, not yet.”

Henry, who’d noticed the confused look Arthur was giving Merlin, inclined his chin but decided not to pry. “Alright, then,” he said, sceptical. “At least get some rest sometime, though, yeah?”

“Of course,” Merlin breathed.

At that, Henry and Ira were gone. Once they were out of earshot, Arthur turned to Merlin and asked, “You want to tell me what that was about?”

Merlin cleared his throat. “I’m going to go find Robert.”

“Merlin, you heard—”

“I can do more for him than the nurses can. You know that.”

Arthur raised both his eyebrows, now understanding what Merlin was getting at. “Magic? _Here_?”

“Why not?”

“Is that… advised?”

“Advised?”

“You know what I mean. Are you sure it would… go over well?”

“No.”

“But you’re going to do it anyway.”

“Obviously.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he agreed. “But what do you need me for, then?”

“Cover my back, would you?”

“Right. And how am I meant to do that?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“ _Merlin_.”

“Arthur, I’m going to try with or without you.”

Arthur sighed. “Alright.”

Merlin smiled at him and together they got up, looking towards the medical tents.

“Do you have any idea where he is?” Arthur asked, his eyes darting about watching the hectic comings and goings in the tents.

“I can figure it out.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Merlin before recalling what he was talking about. “Right, right. Of course. You can see the path.”

“Exactly.”

Concentrating, Merlin’s eyes glowed golden as he envisioned where Clara had gone. Catching up with her, he could see her and Robert in one of the middle tents. She was tapping his face with a cloth, presumably to tend a fever.

His head snapped back as he returned to his normal vision. Arthur gave Merlin an inquisitive look, waiting for Merlin to say something. When he didn’t, Arthur spoke instead. “Well? Did you find them?”

Merlin nodded. “This way,” he said.

As they made their ways to the tent, Arthur came to a realisation and whispered to Merlin, “So when were you going to tell me you had all these healing powers?”

“Sorry?”

“Are you telling me you could have saved my life at Camlann?”

“No,” Merlin said sharply. “No, that I couldn’t do. Trust me, if I could have I would have. That was… a bit more complicated than this.”

“Oh, really.”

“Besides, Arthur, I _did_ use this on you before. You just never noticed.”

Arthur laughed, disbelieving. “When?”

“Ar—damn it, Arthur, a lot.”

“Can’t have been _that_ much.”

“Yes. It can.”

“Are you saying I used to get us into trouble?”

“You can’t honestly believe you didn’t.”

“Fair point.”

Merlin was amused now as well.

“So, then Gaius. Did he ever actually _do_ any medicine, or was it just you helping him out?”

“Gaius? He definitely practised on his own. Loved that job.”

Arthur nodded. “You know, I still can’t wrap my head around how you managed to keep this quiet trying to save my life with it all the time.”

“Neither can I.”

“Very funny.”

“Look, that’s the past. If Uther hadn’t… been Uther, I would have said something sooner, trust me. Would have made my life a lot easier.”

They’d now reached the tent Merlin had seen Robert in. Using his powers again, he made sure no one was awake inside it. Once he’d confirmed it held nothing but sleeping or unconscious soldiers, he nodded and put a hand to Arthur’s shoulder to get his attention. “Is it clear?” Arthur asked.

Merlin nodded. “I’m going in. Won’t be long. You stay out here and make sure no one interrupts me.”

“How do I do that?”

“I’d say use your charm, but I guess that’s out of the question.”

Arthur playfully shoved Merlin into the tent. As his eyes landed on Robert, Merlin took a deep breath to compose himself.

It had been a long time since he’d used magic like this. Standing over Robert’s bed, Merlin held a hand over the wound as he searched his mind for the right spell. Coming up with an idea, he put his hands to Robert’s shoulder and breathed the incantation as quietly as he could manage.

The bullet wound sealed itself before Merlin’s eyes, and he watched it with pride. He turned to leave the tent, feeling quite pleased with himself, but he was stopped by Robert’s voice behind him asking, “What in hell did you do?”


	7. In the Hope that Our Friendship May Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert confronts Merlin about what happened in the tent, and Merlin knows he can't lie his way out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter seven's title is said by Bayard in _The Poisoned Chalice_.

Merlin’s heart dropped when he heard Robert’s question. He had been so certain no one would find out. Slowly, with his hands up defensively, he turned back around to face his companion. “Nothing,” he lied, wanting to test the waters.

“Bullshit,” Robert hissed.

“Robert—”

Robert sharply pulled the covering off his shoulder, revealing that the place where the bullet had struck him bore not even so much as a scar. “I was shot.”

“Yes.”

“But you wouldn’t know it to look at me, would you?”

“Robert, please.”

“Tell me what you did.”

Merlin nodded. “Alright, I will,” he agreed. “But not in here. Too many people.”

Robert’s eyes were dark slits, filled with rage and distrust. Still, he got up and gestured towards the entrance to the tent. “On with it, then.”

Merlin sighed deeply and led the way from the tent. When he emerged, he grabbed Arthur’s shoulder to get his attention, startling him just a little. “ _Mer_ —” Arthur cut himself off seeing Robert come through the tent close behind. Clearing his throat, he corrected himself. “Andrew,” he said stiffly. He looked Robert over, amazed at what Merlin was capable of, and greeted him. “Robert. Good to see you’re doing better.”

“Save it,” Robert snarled.

Arthur looked to Merlin quizzically.

“Come on,” Merlin directed both Arthur and Robert. “We need to find somewhere with some privacy.”

“For what?” asked Arthur, only growing more perplexed.

“Robert has some… questions he needs me to answer.”

“And I have to be there for it?”

“Not really. But it’d be appreciated.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking back and forth between Merlin and Robert.

Merlin rolled his eyes and whispered to Arthur, “He knows.”

Arthur’s mouth opened to speak as he gaze settled on Robert. He was at a loss initially, so all he ended up saying was, “I see.”

A silent walk to an unoccupied part of the trench later, the three men stopped, Merlin and Arthur side-by-side with Robert staring them both down. If looks could kill, the two of them would have dropped on the spot.

“What do you want to know?” Merlin asked, trying to ease them into the conversation.

It didn’t work. Robert, just a hair taller than Merlin, looked down on him with anger in his eyes. Or at least Merlin thought it was anger; after Robert wouldn’t answer his question, Merlin noticed he was actually more fearful than anything else.

His apprehensions calmed by this, Merlin gestured to the ground. “Perhaps we should have a seat.”

To his surprise, Robert obliged, and the pair sat opposite one another on in the dirt. Arthur didn’t follow, instead choosing to stand over them. Merlin motioned for him to join them, but Arthur declined. “This is between the two of you. I’m here because you asked.”

Merlin nodded and turned his attention entirely on Robert now. “Whatever you want to say, go ahead.”

“I don’t want to say anything,” Robert all but growled.

“I get it, alright. It’s a lot to handle.”

“What the _hell_ did you do?”

“Healed your wound.”

“ _How_?”

After a beat, Merlin sighed and said, “Magic.”

“Magic,” Robert scoffed. “Can you stop messing around, please? I’m not a child.”

“Nor am I.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Robert.”

“I’m serious. Tell me what you did.”

“He already told you,” Arthur interjected. He stood with his back turned to Merlin and Robert, looking out at the trenches around them. He didn’t bother to turn around when he’d intervened in their conversation.

Robert was eyeing Arthur, but when he couldn’t find words to say he brought his attention back to Merlin. “That’s impossible.”

“Apparently not,” Merlin teased.

“Andrew.”

Noticing without his further help this discussion would lead nowhere, Arthur rolled his eyes and resigned himself to being involved, turning towards them and taking a seat. “Robert,” he said calmly to pull attention to him.

“Yeah?”

Arthur looked over to Merlin for a second or two, and Merlin couldn’t quite identify what his expression was trying to convey. Directing his gaze back to Robert, Arthur breathed, “I’ve been where you are.”

Robert didn’t answer save for inclining his head to prompt Arthur to continue.

Arthur shrugged. “Look, where I come from, how I was raised—we knew sorcery was out there, but I was always taught to… fear it. Revile it.”

“So?”

“We knew each other probably a decade before I found out he could do these things. The entire time, he’d kept it hidden from me.”

“What’s this to do with me?”

“I’m getting there.”

Merlin was listening to Arthur perhaps more intently than Robert. He had a general idea of what had gone through Arthur’s mind the night he revealed his magic, but, given their focus was elsewhere at the time, he’d never heard quite so much about it in one stretch.

Arthur put a hand to Robert’s knee. “You feel betrayed. Scared. Confused. I know, because that’s how I felt. At least you found out before ten years had gone by.”

That got Robert to laugh a little, but still nervously.

“Robert, if I had gotten my way, he’d have been out of my sight the second I found out. But, as it happened, things didn’t work out like that.”

“And?”

Arthur shrugged. “I don’t know. I had a point in here somewhere,” he chuckled to himself. “What I’m trying to say is just… ease up a little, yeah? There’s nothing to be angry or frightened or upset about because there’s nothing wrong.”

Robert looked exclusively at Merlin now. “He telling the truth?”

Merlin nodded, though hesitant.

Robert sighed. “I’m sorry,” he admitted. He grabbed his shoulder where the bullet wound should have been. “You did save my life, I suppose. Probably shouldn’t have acted like that.”

“No, no, I get it,” Merlin assured. “Just… glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah,” Robert agreed. He looked behind him, towards where the rest of the soldiers were. “I think I’m just going to go find Ira. And get some goddamn rest.”

Merlin and Arthur laughed a little. “Of course,” Merlin replied, gesturing vaguely towards the other soldiers. “Good night, then.”

Robert, stood up already, just saluted to them before briskly turning and disappearing off into the trench.

Merlin turned to Arthur, who was still watching after Robert. “So,” Merlin began, which pulled Arthur’s gaze to him. “Betrayed. Scared. Confused.”

Arthur shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

Merlin looked to his hands for a moment before bringing his eyes back up to Arthur. “Thanks for jumping in there.”

“Are you kidding?” Arthur teased. “The rate the two of you were going, the war would be done with, and you would still be in these trenches trying to sort this mess out.”

“You’re probably right.”

There was a lull in conversation before Arthur, looking up at the stars, said, “I do wonder how different things could have been.”

“If?”

“If you’d told me earlier.”

“Probably depends on how much earlier.”

“Fair point,” Arthur breathed. “But there were opportunities, weren’t there?”

“Look, so maybe I didn’t choose the _perfect_ time. But I don’t know. Things went pretty well, I think.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Why’s that?”

Arthur put a hand to the place on his chest Mordred’s sword had pierced through. “Take a guess.”

Merlin smiled, shaking his head.

Arthur finally looked back down to him. “I’ve made my peace with it now. But at the time… I guess I thought you trusted me more.”

Merlin’s expression fell. “I did. Of course I did. There were… extenuating circumstances. You know that”

“Maybe.”

“Come on,” Merlin said, noting the direction the conversation was taking. “Let’s find the others. Get some sleep.”

Arthur nodded, and the pair got to their feet and followed Robert’s path.


	8. Death, Betrayed by His King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Robert, Ira, Henry, and Clara behind in Neuve-Chappelle, Merlin and Arthur advance towards Artois, back to being completely on their own for the first time since Arthur's resurrection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter eight's title is said by Morgana in _His Father's Son_.

That May saw a major shift in dynamics. The troops Merlin and Arthur had been with most of their time in France split following Neuve Chappelle; some went towards Artois, and others held back in case enemy advancements were made on Neuve-Chappelle again. Robert, Ira, and Henry were amongst those who’d stayed behind, leaving Merlin and Arthur alone once they’d reached Artois.

They were strangely appreciative of the reprieve. They both found they had little patience for socialising with the larger group; it was quite draining to have to keep their entire identities a secret—even if Robert did know at least something. He’d promised not to tell Henry, Ira, or Clara; as far as Merlin and Arthur could tell, he kept to his word.

Now, as it appeared, it may have become a non-issue. There was really no telling whether they would all be united again. Yet again, Merlin and Arthur found themselves, and the soldiers around them, preparing to launch an offensive.

“It went so well last time,” Arthur scoffed. He and Merlin were seeing to their weapons, making sure everything was in top shape before battle commenced.

“Could have gone worse,” Merlin reminded. “At least we’re somewhere new, right? If I spent another day in that trench—”

“We’re still in the trenches, Merlin.”

“Fair point.”

“But you’re right. At least it’s a different trench. Change of pace.”

“The Arthur Pendragon I met when I came to Camelot would never _dream_ of settling for conditions like this.”

Arthur gave him a friendly smile, setting his firearm down. “Bit comforting to be back on our own again, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” Merlin replied with a shrug. He too quit tending to his firearm, placing it to his side and adjusting to a more comfortable position.

Arthur looked to his hands then back up to Merlin. “You disagree.”

“Perhaps I’m just more sociable than you.”

Arthur shook his head, but he answered with, “That’s probably it.”

Merlin noticed the disjuncture between Arthur’s words and his actions, but he figured he wouldn’t push the matter. He just raised an eyebrow, saying, “I don’t know. I’ve had fourteen hundred years to be on my own. I think I’d prefer not to.”

Arthur nodded. “Didn’t think about that,” he said, looking not at Merlin but instead just beside him.

Merlin turned to see what Arthur was watching, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Perplexed, he looked back to his friend. “Are you… alright?”

“What?”

“You’re acting a bit off. That’s all.”

“Me?” Arthur laughed. “No, I’m fine, Merlin. Just… I don’t know, there’s a lot to think about, I suppose.”

“Like?”

“Forgive me, Merlin, but I didn’t have fourteen centuries to process the weight of my so-called destiny.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Don’t know if you noticed, but I was a little occupied.”

“So you remember nothing?”

“About?”

“You know.”

“Dying? I remember quite a bit. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

“No, I mean—”

“Avalon.”

Merlin sighed. “Yeah.”

Arthur shook his head. Seeing Merlin look surprised by this revelation, he asked, “Not what you were expecting?”

“I don’t know what I was expecting.”

“It’s death, Merlin. There’s nothing more to say about it.”

Merlin didn’t quite feel the conversation was over, but he understood Arthur well enough to know he wasn’t going to get anything else out of it for that night. Besides, he didn’t know for _sure_ it was some deeper issue. Perhaps the sun was shining just right earlier that morning; perhaps the world had shifted just the right number of degrees. Perhaps the wind was blowing at just the right speed. Anything could set Arthur off; he knew that. Instead, he decided to change the subject. “How long do you think this war can last?”

“I don’t know.”

“People are talking. It’ll be a full year come August.”

“I know.”

“Wars in Camelot could last… what, years on end?”

“Sometimes.”

“So if this is like that, we could be here for a _long_ time, then?”

“Suppose so.”

Merlin scoffed, picking up his firearm and acting as if he was looking it over just to give himself something to do in light of Arthur’s sudden decision to end the conversations.

After a few moments, Arthur asked, “Who else knew?”

“Excuse me?”

“About your magic.”

“You need to work on being more direct with your questions.”

“I have a lot of blanks to fill, Merlin. I’m asking them as they come.”

Merlin nodded. “Right. You’re right.”

“So, go on, then. Who else knew before you told me? I know Gaius did, and I assume the people in Ealdor as well,” Arthur asked again. With a chuckle, he added. “I’m curious who all made the cut before I did.”

“We’ve been through this.”

“Maybe, but you’re still not getting off easy.”

Merlin laughed now, placing his gun back down and looking up to Arthur, shaking his head.

“Just humour me, would you?” Arthur pushed.

“Fine,” Merlin conceded. He looked to the sky to collect his thoughts before returning his attention to Arthur. “You sure you want to know?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I _was_ , at least.”

“It’s not too long a list, if that helps.”

“It does, actually.”

“Lance—”

“ _Lancelot_ knew?”

“Yes.”

“That bastard.”

“I didn’t really intend for it to happen. Bit of a necessity at the time. Remember the gryphon he killed?”

“ _You_ killed it?”

“No, no, Lancelot did. I just… enchanted his lance so it’d actually be effective.”

“Alright, fine. Who else?”

“It was Gaius, Lancelot—”

“Any of the other knights?”

“Before you?”

“Yes.”

“Define ‘knight.’”

Arthur just looked confused.

Merlin sighed. “Mordred knew.”

“Of course he did,” Arthur laughed.

“None of the other knights before you, though. They found out after I came back from Avalon. At various points.”

“That’s something, I suppose.”

“Anyway, stop interrupting, would you? I’m going to lose my focus.”

“Is it really that long a list?”

“ _No_ , but—” Merlin stopped to shrug. “Just let me think, alright?”

Arthur held up his hands defensively. “Have at it.”

“Gaius, Lancelot, Mordred… There was also that thing with Agra—”

“You told my _uncle_ before you told me?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Surely.”

“Look, I killed him with my magic. Of course he found out about it.”

Arthur’s eyes widened a little at this. “ _You_ killed my uncle?” he chuckled. “The court had no idea what became of him. I assumed it was Morgana or something.”

“It was me. I would have said something, but, well.”

“Understandable, I _suppose_.”

“The only other people you’d know are Morgana and—”

“When did you tell Morgana?”

“I didn’t. Mordred did. Remember what I told you about interrupting?”

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect the list to be… _this_.”

“Your father also knew.”

“Now you’re messing with me.”

“I’m not,” Merlin laughed. “I’m being completely honest with you.”

“My father would have had you hanged. Or burned.”

“Well, then, it’s probably good he was already dead.”

Arthur didn’t answer, just stared at Merlin as the memory caught up to him.

“Funnily enough, if you hadn’t have sent him off when you did, he would have told you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he was _just_ about to. Thought I was done for.”

Arthur shook his head. “Should have listened to him.”

“Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I listened plenty well to my father when he was king. Probably _too_ well.”

“I think you’re giving yourself too much credit where that’s concerned, but sure.”

“I sort of miss it, you know?”

“Miss what?”

“Before he passed. Before—I don’t know, before everything got so _complicated_. When you first got to Camelot, things were a hell of a lot easier.”

“Suppose so, yeah.”

“Never dreamed of things ending up like this. You know, my biggest regret about all of it is my sister. There _must_ have been a point along the way where she could have been redeemed. I have to believe that.”

“I agree with you.”

“We just… let it pass.”

“Morgana made her own decisions.”

“Perhaps.”

“For what it’s worth, that’s my regret too.”

Arthur looked to his firearm at his side. “Funny how things work out, isn’t it?”

“If that’s the word you want to use.”


	9. Wildflowers and Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation amongst friends turns more personal than expected, putting Arthur and Merlin in a vulnerable position regarding their secrecy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter nine's title is said by Freya in _The Lady of the Lake_.
> 
> **Warning:** This chapter does have some very lightly implied homophobia. No slurs, nothing explicit. But I briefly discuss a wlw couple during the early 20th century, so it's hinted at.

The dust was settling in the wake of Artois, which had, relatively, gone well; combined with some other goings-on at other fronts, there was generally a sense of hope among the forces. The area Merlin and Arthur’s section of the military occupied was in something of a lull in activity for some months. It made for as peaceful a summer as they could reasonably expect, all things considered.

By August, just over a year following the start of the war, Arthur and Merlin would be reunited with Henry, Robert, Ira, and Clara as their battalions reconnected, headed for Loos.

Until then, however, the soldiers and nurses in the trenches made as merry as they could. Though it had been a year and though recent advances had been successful, they still presumed a long road ahead before they’d be truly in the clear.

Despite what Arthur had said about enjoying being free of the other four, he and Merlin were both glad of their company when they were all finally together again. Merlin was still unsure about some of the things he had said that night, but he was content to leave it in the past and assume Arthur had just been talking for talking’s sake. It had been four months since they’d had that conversation, and nothing had been resolved, leading Merlin to assume it’d just stay that way.

Besides, to see Arthur talk with the other four, one would never had suspected he’d been happy to be rid of them.

The only things off-limits to discuss was the war itself, to preserve the mood, and Merlin and Arthur’s histories, to preserve their cover. Robert made sure they knew he’d told no one about Merlin’s magic; he was unaware just how deep their secrets went.

The day they were all reunited was hot, and the sun bore down upon the trench without mercy. Still, it only raised spirits.

“Who’d have thought we’d get some decent weather for a change?” Clara said, the last to settle in as the group sat together around a small lantern. Being that it was daytime, it was unlit, of course, but Ira had insisted they get it situated awhile as he’d intended to keep them all talking at least until the sun went down.

“We earned it,” Henry replied, moving to his right a tad to allow her some extra space to sit down.

She got herself in a comfortable position and gave Henry a sharp nod. “You’re right,” she agreed. “After all that madness.”

“So how long has it been, then?” Henry asked, directing the group’s attention towards Arthur and Merlin.

Arthur shook his head as he tried to think back. “Must have been… It has to have been at least three months now, hasn’t it? Since Neuve-Chappelle.”

“Really? That long in these damned trenches?”

“We’re all just having so much fun,” Clara mocked. “You know how they say time flies.”

“You know what? You’re right, Clara. Any luck, and maybe we can see an actual home again soon.”

“I really don’t think we’ll be quite so fortunate.”

“Not with that attitude, we won’t.”

“Maybe he has a point,” Merlin suggested. “It _has_ already been a year, right? Surely this has to stop sometime.”

“Do none of you know anything at all about war?” Clara laughed. “We’ll be here _forever_. My hair will start greying by the time we see the outside of a trench again.”

“Are you trying to curse us or something?” Henry teased.

“Are _you_?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Going on about the war ending soon so we can all get back to our lives,” she chuckled. “Surefire way to guarantee we all die here.”

“I thought we decided the war wasn’t up for discussion,” Arthur interjected, looking around the circle.

“So we did,” Clara conceded. “Couldn’t say why. I mean, really, what else do we have to talk about?”

“Arthur, if you’re so keen on getting us off the war, you could always tell us some actual truth about where you came from,” Robert prompted. His delivery was lighthearted to match the tone of the conversation, but, given what he knew, Merlin and Arthur both suspected there was something deeper to his proposition.

“We said that was off the table too,” Arthur countered.

“ _You_ two declared it. The rest of us didn’t agree to it.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Merlin interrupted.

“Maybe I’d believe you if you weren’t so insistent,” Robert replied with a shrug. “Seems to me the two of you have something to hide.”

“He’s right,” Ira agreed.

“You always take his side,” Merlin scoffed.

“It just so happens, Andy, that he’s right. All the time.”

“Except about this,” Arthur said lightly. “We’ve told all of you all you need to know. I grew up a hunter; Andrew grew up in a farming town. Not quite sure what else there is to say about any of that.” He gave Robert something of a glare both for getting this discussion started again and for putting them in a situation that could out Merlin’s magic.

“Alright, if you won’t tell us anything about _that_ , then tell us about something else,” Henry prompted.

“Such as?”

“Is there a girl back home?”

Arthur’s stomach dropped, and he found himself unable to reply.

Henry narrowed his eyes, so Merlin intervened. “No,” he said curtly. “No, there’s—no. No girl back home. For either of us.”

“There was,” Arthur added.

Henry’s gaze fell to the still unlit lantern in the centre of their circle. “Sorry to hear it.”

“It doesn’t matter now. It’s been… a few years.”

“She leave town or something?”

“Yeah,” Arthur affirmed. “Something like that.”

“Oh, I see. Another mystery.”

“Drop it,” Clara directed with a laugh. She looked between Arthur and Merlin then back to Henry. “Look what you’ve done, Henry; you’ve upset them.”

“How was I supposed to know that was a touchy subject?”

“It’s alright,” Arthur insisted before Clara could say her reply. He cleared his throat, looked over to Merlin for a few seconds, then looked back to Henry. He didn’t quite know why he was prepared to pose the question he was. Perhaps the sun was shining just right earlier that morning; perhaps the world had shifted just the right number of degrees. Perhaps the wind was blowing at just the right speed. Whatever the reason, with a deep sigh, he asked, “What do you want to know about her?”

“Are you serious?”

Arthur nodded.

“What was her name?”

“Gwen.”

“Lovely.”

“It is.”

“How did you meet?”

“She worked with my sister.”

“You have a _sister_?”

“Yes.”

“Never said anything about that.”

“You never asked.”

“Would you have told me if I had?”

“No.”

“You’re still hung up on her, then?”

“Gwen?”

“Yes.”

“Always will be.”

“I know the feeling,” Clara interjected.

Arthur’s eyes, which had been on the lantern, shot up to catch Clara’s. “What are you talking about?”

“I had someone back home before I came here. It ended just before I shipped off.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t get to ask you questions, but you can ask them of me?”

“Not my fault you choose to answer.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Fair enough.”

“So then what happened? To your man, I mean.”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Hard for something to happen to a man I didn’t have.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, but once it dawned on him what she was talking about, he sat up straighter. “A girl, then?”

She nodded. “Katherine,” she said, as if the name itself was her greatest joy. “She ended things. Thought waiting around for me to return would be… too much for her, I suppose.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

Clara shrugged. “Something similar happen with Gwen?”

There was a brief pause as Arthur considered what the best answer would be. Deciding on something, he shortly replied, “Yeah. Vaguely.”

“Katherine was always on edge about us,” Clara laughed. “The neighbourhood’s not exactly… open-minded.” She paused for a second, then shrugged and added, “I think my leaving for war was the push she needed to finally just get out.”

“But you loved her?”

“With all my heart.”

That was it—the words took the breath out of Arthur’s lungs, and Merlin noticed him grow some shades paler. He took Arthur’s arm and stood up. “Is he alright?” Ira asked; all four of the others were watching them concernedly.

“Perfectly. He needs… some air is all. Just taking him to a less crowded area for a moment,” Merlin assured.

“Was it something I said?” asked Clara, clearly the most upset out of them.

Merlin shook his head fervently. “No, no. I’m sure it’s not.” He looked Arthur over quickly before coming up with his cover. “There was some influenza that went around at Artois. He caught it pretty late; he’s just still recovering. Nothing to worry about.”

Clara looked sceptical, but she gave them a nod anyway. “If you say so,” she agreed.

Once Merlin had gotten himself and Arthur out of the others’ earshot, he sat Arthur down and gave him a moment to collect himself. “Arthur?” he asked tentatively.

Arthur scoffed, pushing Merlin’s hands away. “I’m fine; I’m fine,” he maintained. “Caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

Merlin nodded, looking to his hands. “I miss her too, you know. All of them.”

“At least you were able to say good-bye.”

Merlin couldn’t find the words to reply.

After a few moments to regain his composure, Arthur laughed lightly and looked over to where the rest of their group was sitting; he could see them all still watching them. They quickly turned their attention back to one another once he’d caught their eyes. “If they didn’t think we were suspicious before, they surely do now.”


	10. The Values of Being a Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An offensive attempt by the Allied Forces devolves into a slaughter, putting Merlin, Arthur, and their soldier friends in harm's way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter ten's title is said by Lancelot in _The Coming of Arthur: Part One_.
> 
> **Warning:** When I chose to put the Graphic Violence tag on this fanfiction, it was because of this chapter right here. I do think it's pretty tame, but it's enough I thought it was worth noting.

September saw their forces launch the biggest offensive of the year. It was for this moment that Merlin and Arthur’s unit had relinked to Henry, Robert, and Ira’s. And, in no uncertain terms, it did not go to plan.

The attack was initiated on the 25th, and it caused more harm to their own side than the enemies’. It was already a bad omen, but the battle would last for several more days. Merlin, Arthur, Henry, Robert, and Ira would all be out of service by the first of October, a week before the battle’s proper end.

‡‡‡‡‡

The five soldiers in the group wished Clara luck in the medical tents before leaving her side to join rank at the frontlines.

“It’s not me who needs luck,” she laughed, giving them each an embrace.

“We’ll see you soon,” Ira assured, the last to hug her.

“Not too soon,” she replied. “I better not see a single one of you in my tent.”

With that, the men were off; she watched them head towards a group of soldiers that had been amassing, preparing to attack enemy lines together. Shaking her head, she turned the opposite way to meet her mother at the hospital tents. After the first wave of soldiers had come in—choking and dying on their own poison gas—the nurses were all exceptionally apprehensive about the remaining battle to come.

Within the hour, fighting had broken out. Given this was only their third actual outing using a firearm, Merlin and Arthur were still somewhat unfamiliar. But they weren’t in the position, with bullets showering them and their forces like a waterfall, to think too hard about it. With his upbringing as a warrior, though under different circumstances, this was much easier for Arthur than it was for Merlin, who, more often than not, found himself abandoning his weapon altogether and relying on his magic. He’d kept the firearm on hand as a cover.

It was for the best anyway; Merlin using his magic was far more effective than Merlin using a weapon—on both offensive and defensive fronts. He covered Arthur, Henry, Robert, and Ira carefully, and, should anything start going south for any of them, he was prepared to change the tides.

Two days in, the 27th of September, Merlin’s abilities in that regard were put to the test; the area he, Arthur, and the others were in was taking particularly nasty fire. Dust and smoke and bullets in the air lowered visibility for both sides to just about none. Merlin was focusing as best he could, but it became overwhelming.

His attention was immediately regained when he heard, behind him from Robert and Ira’s direction, a loud thud followed by shouting. He whipped around to see what had happened; to his horror, both had been hit. Ira bled profusely from his thigh, but he was awake and incredibly alert, so high off the rush he hardly noticed the geyser bursting from his femoral artery.

Robert was in a less compromised position; Merlin could see a bullet lodged in his forearm, so he could no longer handle his firearm, but otherwise he was doing alright, more focused on his cousin than on anything else.

Immediately upon seeing what had happened, Merlin, deflecting enemy fire from himself through magic, covered himself with his gun and ran to their aide. Robert, knowing what Merlin was capable of, took Merlin’s arm and pulled him to the ground so he was kneeling over Ira, who was now beginning to fall in and out of consciousness.

“Do something,” Robert breathed, his eyes manic as he held his hands over the wound to Ira’s thigh.

Merlin gestured toward Ira with his head, saying, “Keep him still. Make sure he doesn’t see anything.”

Robert agreed, and, once Merlin’s hands replaced his on Ira’s thigh, he shifted his focus to distracting his cousin. “You’re going to be alright,” he said calmly, taking his cousin’s hand. “Everything’s fine. It’s… not that bad, really.”

Ira, still half-conscious tried to sit up, but Robert put a hand to his shoulder to keep him laying back. “What’s happened?” Ira asked, barely able to talk.

“You were shot,” Robert said, keeping his demeanour as even as he could. “We can’t move you; Andy’s patching you up well enough to get you to the tents.”

Ira laughed—at least as much as he could. “Didn’t realise Andy was a nurse.”

“He’s…” Robert watched as Merlin, hands held over the hole in Ira’s thigh, recited whichever spells came to him. After catching a glimpse of Merlin’s eyes glowing gold, he shot his attention back to Ira. “He’s something like that, yeah.”

“Robert,” Merlin said after a few more seconds.

Robert looked Ira in the eyes and directed, “Stay completely still.” He turned to Merlin now, noticing his cousin was still bleeding, though it had markedly reduced in volume. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking up to Merlin now.

“I’ve done what I can,” Merlin assured. “He’ll recover fine. Take him to the tents; they can handle it from here.”

“You’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t leave if I weren’t,” Merlin replied firmly. He looked behind them and watched as Arthur and Henry held down the area as best they could. “I wish I could do more, but I need to keep an eye on them.”

“Of course,” Robert breathed.

“I’ll cover you on your way out.” Seeing Robert, with his wounded arm, struggle a bit under his cousin’s weight, Merlin added, “Get that checked out.”

“Thanks,” Robert replied. At that, he and Ira went one way, towards the tents, and Merlin ran back the other, towards Henry and Arthur.

‡‡‡‡‡

Neither Robert nor Ira returned to battle; they were stable, but in no condition to be at the warfront. The other three were still out there another four days.

There had been a point in that time where the commotion in their particular area eased up a little, but on the first of October it picked right back up again. This time, however, Merlin felt much more under control; he only had to keep an eye on Arthur, Henry, and himself rather than all five of them, spread across the battleline.

From what they knew, at least some of the soldiers on their side were making successful advancements. That couldn’t be said for them. Henry, Arthur, and Merlin had been in the same exact place the last five days; there was never an opening for them to change position, so they’d found themselves trapped in something of a purgatory.

Still, they preferred that if it meant actually living to see this battle through. It hadn’t even been a full week yet, but, by the sounds of it, simply surviving was the best anyone could hope for. They’d had some rough outings before—nothing quite like this one.

As they’d been holding the line, they hadn’t gotten word about Robert or Ira’s condition since they’d left the battlefield. It had actually taken Henry and Arthur quite awhile to even notice they’d vacated. Only when tensions lifted again did they feel they had a moment to recollect themselves and check in with the group.

“You alright?” Arthur panted, looking Henry over.

Henry, who was doubled over catching his breath, stood up straighter and nodded vehemently. “Fine,” he affirmed. “Bit winded.”

“Tell me about it.”

They looked around them for the others; Henry was the first to find Merlin, so he beckoned, “Andy. Over here.”

Merlin, who was a few metres away at that point, turned towards Henry’s voice and ran to him and Arthur. “Everything alright?” he asked when he arrived.

“Yeah,” Arthur replied curtly. “Yeah, we’re fine.” He looked around them, but he couldn’t see very well through the dust in the air. “Where are the others?”

“Robert and Ira?”

“Yeah.”

“They’ve been gone a few days now.”

“Gone?”

“Got hit pretty bad early in the fighting.”

“You’re serious?”

“Absolutely. They should be fine though. Last I saw them, they were at least in good enough shape to get themselves to the hospital tents.”

“Good,” Henry breathed. He looked around them, noticing the cloud they’d been consumed by starting to thin. “Maybe this will all be over s—”

He was wrong.

Fighting once again picked up, and Henry had taken a shot to his back, dropping him to the ground on impact. Blood shot from the site with force that rivalled the bullet’s, as if to serve as his return fire, and soaked the ground around him and covering Merlin and Arthur, knelt over him. Arthur, holding fire to protect the others as Merlin tried to find the best angle at which to examine the injury, asked, “Is he breathing?”

“Only just.”

“Is there anything you can do for him?”

Merlin shook his head, his breathing picking up. “I—Arthur, I don’t know,” he admitted. He looked around quickly before returning his focus to Henry. “Not here, there isn’t.”

“Go.”

“What?” Merlin asked with a nervous laugh, directing his gaze to Arthur.

“I said, ‘Go.’”

“I heard you. You’re mad.”

“I’ll cover you. Take him somewhere safer, and buy yourself some time.”

“Arthur, you’ll be torn apart.”

“That’s my problem.”

Merlin looked back down to Henry, whose breath was growing weaker with every moment. With a sigh, he turned back to Arthur and nodded, “Alright.”

At that, Arthur moved to position himself squarely in front of Henry and Merlin as Merlin picked Henry up to take him several metres south, to a clearer area with decidedly less fire. He set Henry down gently, looking back to Arthur one more time before giving Henry his full attention. He put a hand to the wound on Henry’s back; the bullet hadn’t gone all the way through, so his first order of business was getting it out, much easier magic than the healing itself would be. This took him only a few seconds, and after that he was running frantically through every healing spell in his arsenal. He landed on one that at least worked well enough to stop the bleeding and regain Henry’s pulse when he heard the firing out towards Arthur stop.

Confused, Merlin quickly looked around in search of Arthur, but he couldn’t find anything. Henry was still unconscious, though improving, so Merlin lied him on the ground as delicately as he could while still being quick. Immediately, he was on his feet, running to find Arthur and shouting his name without a thought about whether his cries would get them found by their enemy.

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed, seeing a body lying in the dirt. He ran over as fast as his legs would allow, sliding the remainder of the distance and kneeling over Arthur.

It brought Merlin precious little comfort, but Arthur was still conscious. He tried to direct Merlin’s attention to where he’d been hit, but he couldn’t get a word out before Merlin, too, took a round to the shoulder. It took Henry, finally recovered enough thanks to Merlin’s spell, to get them both off the battlefield and into the tents.


	11. If Your Actions Betray You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur awake in medical care following the injuries they sustained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter eleven's title is said by Guinevere in _The Once and Future Queen_.

A day went by, and Arthur and Merlin both awoke in one of the tents. Clara was nearby, patching up another soldier’s injury, when she heard them stir. Finishing up what she was doing, she quickly headed toward them and stood at the feet of their adjacent beds, her arms crossed.

“I thought I said I didn’t want to see any of you in these tents,” she teased. “Somehow, you _all_ managed to turn up.”

Arthur, who’d been shot twice in the upper back, was prepared to sit up, but she stopped him. Laying back, he said, “How are the others?”

“Robert and Ira have been out since the 29th,” Clara informed coolly, repositioning his blankets. “Henry left almost as soon as he came.”

“So they’re alright?” Merlin asked.

“Perfectly so,” Clara assured. “We didn’t let them return to the frontline, so they’ve been hanging out somewhere in the trenches—away from the action. Been worried sick about the two of you.” She had been checking the integrity of both of their bandaging, stopping with her attention on Merlin to add, “Claims you saved their lives.”

“It’s nothing.”

“I’m sure,” she laughed, her hand on his knee as she gave him a warm smile. She returned to her original position at the ends of the beds. “In any case, I’m sure they’ll be very pleased to hear you’re both awake.”

“As are we,” Arthur mocked. His laugh caused him to wince.

“You’ll want to stay still,” Clara advised. “Two to the back’s not something to play around with. You’re lucky it didn’t do worse.”

“I hardly _feel_ lucky.”

She shook her head, her smile only growing. “That’ll subside,” she assured. She turned to Merlin. “How about you? How are you holding up?”

“Wonderfully,” Merlin replied, though thickly sarcastic.

“Well, you got just as lucky as he did, I’ll say that much.” She paused to think for a moment before saying, “All five of you did, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I’d say it’s nothing short of a small miracle. Ira probably should have been dead by the time Robert got him here, but to look at him now you’d never know it.”

“Wonder how that can happen,” Arthur breathed, staring up at the ceiling.

Merlin chuckled to himself a little, saying, “Couldn’t tell you.”

“The other nurses didn’t think you would pull through,” Clara informed. She looked at the tent around them. “This tent’s pretty much for the lost causes.”

“Good to hear,” Arthur replied.

Clara sighed deeply, clearly overcome with relief. “I should fetch the others. Let them know you’re going to make it.”

With that, she departed, leaving Merlin and Arthur alone in a tent full of soldiers who would surely die. The sounds of raging battle hung ominously in the background.

“So, Merlin,” Arthur started, fighting to keep up conversation in light of the pain in his back. “Thought you had us covered,” he teased.

“ _Me_? You told me to go deal with Henry.”

“Didn’t think that one through.” He, with a great deal of effort, looked around to make sure no one could hear them before laying back down, his eyes gazing at the tent ceiling fluttering in the wind. “Anything you can do about this?”

“In this condition?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe you could heal yourself or something.”

“Perhaps, if I could move my arm that high,” Merlin laughed. “We’ll have to wait this out, I’m afraid.”

“I wonder if it was our destiny that protected us.”

“Come again?”

“You heard Clara. Everyone thought we were as good as dead, but here we are—perfectly alright. Almost, at least.”

“What about it?”

“Maybe if any of the other fools in this tent had the benefit of an as yet unclear prophecy on their side, they wouldn’t be so damned.”

“I suppose.”

“I wonder how many times that’s happened before.”

“What?”

“I don’t know—you know, almost dying but being saved for… destiny’s sake.”

“If it’s any comfort, all your near-death experiences were averted by me.”

“Really?”

“Directly or indirectly.”

“Well, it’s not all of them anymore, then, is it?”

“Guess not.”

“It’s just on my mind a lot, I suppose.”

“What? Destiny?”

“Of course.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not on yours?”

“You continue to forget I’ve had a lot of time to contemplate destiny, Arthur. Trust me, I’ve given it as much thought as I think anyone can.”

“Perhaps.” Arthur sighed and, in search of a distraction, prompted Merlin, “So tell me more about my daughter, then. Elianna.”

“Like what?”

“ _Anything_. What did she look like—like her mother?”

“Yes. Yes, Elianna looked a lot like Gwen. She had your smile, though.”

“Would have loved to have seen her. Just once.”

“You would have thought the world of her.”

†††††

By the time Elianna was sixteen, she could swing a sword with the best of them. She’d heard so much about her father and her uncle, the king and the knight, and wanted more than anything to take up swordcraft in their honour, a way to feel close to them. The knights, of course, were more than happy to take her under their collective wing.

Merlin and Gwen stood next to one another on the training grounds, watching Elianna and Leon take one another on. He leaned into Gwen’s ear and said, “She’s very good.”

Gwen’s eyes filled with pride, her hands clasped at her chest. “She is, isn’t she?” she replied, her voice weightless.

Another minute passed, and Elianna had claimed victory. She held her sword to her side and extended a hand to Leon, helping him get to his feet. The other knights, Merlin, and Gwen clapped for their princess.

“Arthur would have loved to see that,” Gwaine teased as Leon rejoined their ranks.

“He’d never let me live that down,” Leon chuckled.

“Who’s next?” Elianna interjected, standing in the centre of the training ground and looking to the knights with the purest excitement.

The knights looked between one another before Leon and Percival both settled their gaze on Gwaine. When he didn’t immediately protest, Leon pushed him towards the young princess, handing him his sword. “He is,” he announced, giving him a triumphant grin. “Go on, then.”

Gwaine shook his head, but he was smiling just like Leon. The knights couldn’t have been prouder watching her grow into Arthur and Elyan’s names. As Gwaine adjusted his armour and his helmet, she twirled the sword in her hand—just as her father used to do.

“Time starts… now,” announced another knight as he reset the hourglass as soon as Gwaine was ready.

No sooner was the hourglass overturned than Elianna took her first swing.

†††††

“They taught her to fight?” Arthur asked, breathless. Merlin couldn’t tell if he was proud or horrified.

“They did.”

“Brilliant.”

“The court figured she could hardly be related to both you and Sir Elyan and never learn how to handle a sword.”

“Good.”

“That, and she insisted on it. Very hard to refuse, Elianna.”

“Runs in her blood.”

“If the knights hadn’t agreed to it, she’d have probably gone ahead herself. At least this way, they’d know what was coming.”

“She beat Leon, then?” Arthur laughed.

“A few times. She was good, Arthur. The best. There wasn’t a knight in the lot who didn’t lose to her.”

“They better not have gone easy.”

“No, of course not. If they had, she’d have known.”

“I’d do anything to see her in action.”

There was a lull in the conversation. As was probably for the better, given Clara had just then returned with Robert, Ira, and Henry. They stood in a group at the feet of Merlin and Arthur’s beds with Clara at the front, arms crossed and looking down upon them with her chin at a sharp incline. “Got some visitors for you,” she said, stepping aside to let the men through.

“Clara said the nurses thought you were done for,” Henry chuckled.

“Guess not,” Merlin replied. His wound was less extensive, so he was able to sit up straighter and greet them properly.

“Couldn’t make it that easy on you lot,” Arthur joked.

“That what it was?” Robert laughed. He looked at Clara. “Any idea how long they’ll be here, then?”

“Couldn’t say,” she replied with a shrug. “Andy got away a bit cleaner; he should be fine within the week. At least fine enough to leave this godforsaken place.”

“And Arthur?”

“Well, like I told him, two square in the back’s nothing to scoff at. I have no doubt he’ll recover well—well enough to return to service even—but I couldn’t begin to know when.”

“Keeping it interesting for you all,” Arthur breathed. It was still something of an effort, but he managed for appearances’ sake.

“You’re awfully calm for someone who narrowly cheated death,” Henry said, folding his arms across his chest.

“Would you rather I cry about it?”

“No,” Henry replied quickly. “No, I would not.”

“There you go, then.”


	12. Even the Most Honourable of Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still mostly hospital-bound, Arthur has some quality time with Clara while Merlin, Henry, Robert, and Ira partake in battle at the Somme River.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter twelve's title is said by Uther in _Goblin's Gold_.
> 
> **Warning:** As with "Wildflowers and Light," I very, very lightly reference homophobia. It's just a mild implication, but it's there.

As Clara had said would happen, Merlin was in shape to return to service far earlier than Arthur was. Once he had his own strength back, he’d done what he could to speed Arthur’s recovery, but even magic could only go so far. Now that he’d been moved to a tent with soldiers the nurses actually expected to survive their wounds, it was nearly impossible to get time alone where he could use his magic without being seen.

Fate had it that, for their forces, the end of 1915 and the front half of 1916 were relatively quiet as an offensive at the Somme River was mapped out. July, it was launched, but by this point Arthur was still not recovered enough for battle. He was able to leave the tents, but he could hardly stand for more than a few minutes at a time; holding a weapon for several hours was entirely out of the question, no matter how much he insisted otherwise.

Merlin, Robert, Henry, and Ira were all back to full duty by then, so they made sure to fill in Arthur on all the details. The battle at Somme, already, was like no other before it. Millions of men were engaged on multiple fronts along the riverside.

They happened to catch a slow night in late September, and, as such, the four active soldiers were gathered around a lantern, telling Clara and Arthur everything they’d seen over the last two months. For Clara, this was how she’d typically experienced the war; for Arthur, it hardly replaced the real thing.

“I’m not the authority, but I think this one’s going better than Neuve-Chappelle. Better than Loos, at least,” Ira said, his smile filled with hope.

“Anything’s better than Loos,” Clara replied, rolling her eyes.

“Tell me about it,” Arthur said, wincing slightly as he tried to sit up straighter. Clara had set up what she could to give his back support, but it was a challenge to do without putting pressure on the wounds, which were still rather tender despite healing well.

“Over under on this ending the war?” Ira asked excitedly, looking around the group. “Surely the Germans can’t withstand this.”

“Maybe, but this isn’t the only front, remember?” Henry said sharply. “It’s been two years. I think we’ll be here a little while longer.”

“You lot are the most hopeless, depressing motherfuckers I’ve ever encountered.”

“We’re realistic, Ira. You’re just too optimistic.”

“ _Someone_ has to be.”

“Think you’ll be back out there tomorrow?” Clara asked, trying to get a read on the situation at the battleline.

“Almost definitely,” Robert replied.

“They sort of need all the help they can get out there,” Merlin informed. “We’re probably lucky to be getting a reprieve right now at all.”

“Do you think the tides might turn?” Clara breathed, worried about another surge in the tents like they’d seen at Loos.

“Doubt it.”

“Good. We don’t have the hospital space for _millions_ of wounded soldiers. Barely made it through Loos as it was.”

“It’s hard to gauge,” Robert admitted. “There’s so much happening on so many fronts—and that’s just at the river. Lord knows what’s taking place in the other theatres.”

“Oh, I’m hardly worried about the whole war right now, Robert. This battle’s quite enough, I think.”

He nodded, and, with one final look around the circle, he said, “I don’t know about the three of you, but I’m off to get some sleep. Whenever this battle is over, it’s sure as hell not going to be tomorrow.”

He stood up, and the others saluted his leave. Ira and Henry followed shortly after Robert. Clara looked over Arthur then turned her gaze to Merlin. “You should be going too,” she said lightly. “You’re all going to need rest.”

“It’s alright,” Merlin replied. “Not really tired.” He looked to Arthur next to him. “I’ll stay with him awhile. Think he could use the company.”

“Not here, you won’t,” Clara said sternly, standing. “I’m taking him back to the tents. They’re not the _cleanest_ , but it’s better than the dirt on the floor of this stinking trench.” She knelt down and took one of Arthur’s arms, putting it over her shoulders so they stood up together. “And Andy,” she said quickly. “If you’re coming to the tents with us, you better damn well keep quiet. It _is_ a hospital, you know.”

“Of course.”

When they’d arrive at the tent, Clara gently laid Arthur down in one of the few empty beds there were left. “You’ll keep an eye on him for me, then?” she asked Merlin. “I know he’s recovering well, but I don’t want to leave him alone quite yet.”

“Honestly, Clara, you’re overreacting,” Arthur insisted. “I’ve had worse.”

“I really doubt that. And I’m not arguing with you about this.”

“ _Yes_ , I’ll stay here,” Merlin said.

“Good,” she breathed. “Wake me if you decide to go to sleep.”

“Sure.”

At that, she left, and Merlin saw his opportunity to try using his magic again. The tent was full of soldiers, but by then they were all fast asleep.

“Did what I can,” Merlin said, standing up and letting Arthur reposition himself in a more comfortable manner.

“Doesn’t feel much different.”

“Honestly, maybe it didn’t work. My attempts at healing magic were always something of a shot in the dark.”

“That’s… disconcerting, actually.”

“Is it?”

“Thought you said your magic saved my life.”

“Several times over.”

“But God forbid you need to heal something.”

“Exactly.”

“Merlin, do you have any actual idea how your powers work?”

“I’m not completely incompetent, Arthur. Yes, I have an idea.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“You could just say thank you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

‡‡‡‡‡

“Where are the others?” Arthur asked when he woke up the next morning. Disregarding the other, unfamiliar soldiers in the tent, Clara was the only person around.

“Fighting,” she said shortly.

“Should have known.”

“They stopped in before they went back out. But I haven’t seen you sleep so well since your injury, so I told them not to wake you.”

“Must be getting better.”

“Before you ask, no. You’re still not going back to active service. Not for at least another month. These things take time.”

They could hear fighting off in the distance. “It’s been nearly a year.”

“Wound like that, you should be grateful.”

“You’ve said.”

“Arthur, it could have paralysed you.”

“But it didn’t.”

“And it won’t. If you do as I say.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

She chuckled a little. As she had been tending to some of the other soldiers, she only then actually came over to stand by Arthur. “I’d like to take a look,” she said, speaking more professionally now. With a playful smile, she added, “My Lord.”

He returned her expression and nodded, sitting up straighter with relative ease compared to just days before. She sat on the edge of his bed, peeling back the bandaging just enough to see the bullet holes beneath. “How is it, then?” Arthur asked when she remained silent.

She didn’t answer at first, instead continuing to inspect other areas. Once she’d finished, she pat him on the back, pushing on his shoulder to lay him back as she got to her feet. “Good,” she breathed. “Better than we could have hoped for.”

“So, then. I can return to duty?”

She shook her head. “Arthur.”

He smiled up at her.

“Very soon,” she assured. “Just give it another day or two, would you? If not for your sake, then for my peace of mind.”

“And until then?”

“You’ve got me to keep you company.”

“I suppose that’ll do.”

She laughed and looked around the tent quickly to make sure she’d seen to everyone before taking her place back on the edge of his bed. “Now that I have you all to myself—”

“Clara, I’m really in no condition.”

“Shut up. I meant to say that I’ve been wanting to apologise.”

“Apologise? For what?”

“Clearly something I said upset you. When I talked about Katherine.”

“ _That_?”

“I know—such a long time ago. But with all… _this_ ,” she said, gesturing to the hospital bed he was in. “I didn’t have the chance to say something.”

“Clara, you didn’t do anything. Like Andrew said, it was just a lingering infection. Nothing more. You have nothing to apologise for.”

“Neither of you are as good of liars as you think.”

“Who’s to say I’m lying?”

“Me.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Even if you had said something—which you didn’t,” he insisted. “It’s nothing to apologise for.”

“Alright,” she breathed. “I wouldn’t blame you if it upset you, though, you know. Tough conversation.”

There was a beat before Arthur softened his expression and asked, “What was she like?”

“Katherine?”

“Yeah.”

“You really want to talk about that right now?”

“Only if you’re up to it, of course.”

She smiled graciously, putting a hand to his knee. “She was extraordinary. Came from a small village way up north. Somehow our families ended up in the same town out near Birmingham. She was a seamstress, but more than anything she loved to sing. And dance. Incredibly talented, Katherine. Beyond compare.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“She was,” Clara sighed, nostalgic. “But you know how it is. One word two ladies are out seeing each other—I think the sneaking about was too much for her.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “With Gwen.”

Clara tilted her head to the side, perplexed.

“My _father_ didn’t approve of her. She didn’t come from… She wasn’t the kind of girl my father expected of me.”

“And yet you saw her anyway?”

“Of course I did.”

Clara laughed. “Something a bit fun about it, isn’t there? The secrets, the _scandal_.”

“Never boring, that’s for sure.”

“I keep feeling like I should never have left. Like maybe Katherine wouldn’t have pulled out if I’d just stayed where I was.”

“No use speculating about things like that.”

“Perhaps not. Hard to escape, though—all those voices telling you what could have been.”


	13. As Good as a Key to the Great Gates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is finally recovered from his injuries, and Merlin opens up more to Robert about his magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter thirteen's title is said by Agravaine in _The Hunter's Heart_.

The first of October came around, a year following Arthur’s injury, and he was finally back in service with plenty to do. Battle continued to rage with no end in sight. Clara had just about disappeared from the group for the whole month as she tried to help the other nurses keep up with the turnover in the hospitals. The dead were innumerable, the wounded even more so, and the fighting wouldn’t truly let up—save a short pause here and there for about a day at a time—until another two weeks after the end of the month.

Finally feeling like he was able to do something raised Arthur’s spirits considerably, even in light of the death and destruction that surrounded them. In Camelot, he’d have never dreamed of sitting back while the rest of his men waged war; it simply wasn’t in his nature. He didn’t say much about it, but he did genuinely enjoy being in France, at least on a carnal level. He was never going to feel closer to home in this new timeline than he did on the frontline.

Merlin, by this point, was getting tired of the relative monotony. War in Camelot was sudden, unpredictable. Combat was more intimate. Fighting like this—firing rounds at distant enemies for indefinite amounts of time and then waiting around in the trenches to do it again—was far less stimulating. He knew it was never going to be _fun_ ; he didn’t have Arthur’s background. But he had at least expected something more than this.

They were both, however, starting to become painfully aware that Robert, Ira, Clara, and Henry were no match for the people they’d left in Camelot.

†††††

“You look beautiful, My Lady,” said a handmaiden proudly as she took a step back and looked over Guinevere, dressed regally and strikingly in one of the most elaborate gowns she’d ever seen. “He won’t know what hit him.”

Gwen turned to a mirror on the handmaiden’s wall, seeing her reflection for the first time since she’d arrived to get prepared. Her hair fell down her back, pinned back simply so as to highlight its natural curl as it cascaded like rain. She turned to the handmaiden—a seamstress from the Lower Town who had been dear friends with her father. “I don’t know what to say,” she breathed, looking back to the mirror with awe.

“You don’t have to say anything,” the handmaiden insisted. She took Gwen’s shoulders and turned her back around so she could have one more look at her. “Your father would be so proud to see you now.”

Gwen took her in an embrace. With one last look in the mirror after she let go, she gave the handmaiden a polite curtsey and left, making her way to the castle where her husband-to-be and the royal court were patiently waiting her arrival.

She picked up the skirt of her dress somewhat inelegantly, too caught up in her whirlwind emotions, and ran to the castle as fast as she could until she was up the stairs and standing just outside the doors, where she stopped to brush herself off, straighten her posture, and regain her sense of propriety.

With a deep breath, she opened the door and entered.

Naturally, she was more than familiar with the castle by then, but on that day it couldn’t help but feel different—more captivating, more surreal—in light of the celebrations.

She made her way to the entrance to the ceremony hall, able to hear the chatter of the people inside of it. Not a full minute later, Merlin arrived with Arthur at his side, both struck speechless at the sight of her.

She smiled up at Arthur and said, “My Lord.”

“My Lady,” he answered, holding out his arm for her. Once she’d taken it, Merlin opened the doors to the hall, revealing a room decorated in red and gold and filled with people—royal and common alike.

Merlin hurried off into the crowd, seeing Gaius standing towards the aisle, and took his place, refusing to take his eyes off of Gwen and Arthur once he was there.

Gwen and Arthur gave each other one last look before, together, they entered the hall, greeted by the crowd falling silent as a fanfare of horns erupted from the back to honour the event. With poise and elegance, they practically floated to the thrones, where Geoffrey stood ready to unite them in matrimony.

†††††

Moments such as that one were the ones Arthur kept with him in France. He couldn’t be certain he’d see her again, but nothing could take the thought of her from him, which was going to have to suffice.

Merlin, too, hung onto Camelot when he felt he needed comfort. It may have been several lifetimes since he was in that court, but his memories never faded—not one of them. They burned in the back of his mind, cropping up now and then when he wasn’t expecting. He hadn’t dreamed when he’d first entered the citadel that he could have possibly ended up where he was. And for centuries after it had fallen and he had long since isolated himself to the woods surrounding Avalon, he had almost wished he could forget. That was right up until Arthur arose from the waves, both giving him a borne-again purpose and serving as a permanent fixture to ensure Camelot couldn’t leave him even if he wanted it to. Not that he did anymore.

As they shared the same longing, the same ache to be back in their proper timeline with the people they loved, Merlin and Arthur’s conversations one-on-one became increasingly exclusively focused on Camelot. Arthur still had so many questions; he’d been absent for such a long time. The war surrounding them in the present wasn’t going to distract his thoughts from wondering about what happened to his kingdom. Whatever Merlin told him about only ever made him want to learn more and more and more.

One night in November, during another break in the fighting, Merlin and Arthur found themselves alone with Robert, still the sole modern person to know Merlin’s secret. They hadn’t had an opportunity like this since Robert had found out, so he decided that then, in that moment, he had his chance to get more out of them. It was too big of a revelation for him to be able to move on quietly; his mind had whirred with questions every time he laid eyes on Merlin.

“So,” he started, initially trying to find the words to ask his questions delicately. When he came up with nothing, he simply said, “Magic, then?”

Merlin, who had been looking at the lantern between them, shot his head up to bring his eyes to Robert. “What about it?”

“Well, I don’t know, really. Never thought it was real.”

“Surprise.”

“Did you have to learn it? Study somewhere? Like a special school or something?”

“No. Not me, anyway.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

“Some people study it. I was born with it.”

“How did you know?”

Merlin shrugged and briefly glanced at Arthur, noticing he, too, looked equally as interested as Robert did. They hadn’t ever expanded on Merlin’s reveal—not from Merlin’s perspective, at least. Merlin looked back to the lantern. “Just sort of… did, really. Hard not to.”

“What?”

“Well, you know. I was always able to… make things _happen_ , I suppose. Since before I could talk, even.”

“Things like?”

“Whatever,” Merlin scoffed. “Watch,” he said, deciding this was an explanation best given visually rather than verbally. He straightened his posture and cleared his throat, holding his focus on the small flame dancing in the lantern. “ _Upastige draca_.”

A dragon made of sparks rose up from the flame and dissipated just seconds later. Arthur recognised this spell; this was the first one he’d truly seen Merlin perform. He looked up to Merlin once the dragon had vanished, but he didn’t say anything.

Robert was more mesmerised, still looking into the flame within the lamp for another moment after the dragon had gone. Once he’d, somewhat, wrapped his mind around it, he, too, looked up at Merlin, though his eyes were wider and his expression more captivated. Arthur merely looked faintly nostalgic. “Beautiful,” Robert said. Neither Merlin nor Arthur had ever heard his voice so weightless as it was in that moment.

Merlin shrugged. “It’s a parlour trick.”

“You’re too modest. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Yeah, well, your mind is a bit more open than the people’s back home were.”

“Really?”

“They weren’t fans.”

“Impossible to imagine.”

“It came from fear. I suppose they figured if they couldn’t understand it then it was better to hate it. Persecute it.”

Arthur looked back down to the lantern.

After a long sigh, Merlin’s tone became a little lighter as he noticed he’d been bringing down the mood. “Worked out in the end though.”

“Did it?” Robert asked, sounding relieved.

“Eventually. Once everyone started realising it isn’t something to be afraid of.”

“Such an incredible gift.”

“Yeah,” Merlin breathed. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“I think I’m going to retire for the night,” Arthur announced, his tone rather distant. He got to his feet and gave them a short nod for a salutation, turning his back on them before being stopped by Merlin getting his attention.

“Wait,” he had said.

Arthur turned back around and narrowed his eyes as he looked down to him. “What is it?” he asked.

Merlin’s brows furrowed nervously as he looked Arthur over. “Nothing,” he ended up saying. “Never mind.”

Arthur gave him a confused look before leaving to join Henry, Ira, and Clara, who were all off a few metres away, fast asleep.

“What was that about?” asked Robert. He’d been watching Arthur for a few seconds before drawing his gaze back to Merlin when he spoke.

Merlin shrugged. “I don’t know. He seemed a bit off this evening.”

Robert gave a quick glance back in the others’ direction. His eyes back on Merlin, he replied, “If you say so.”

“You couldn’t tell?”

“I don’t know. He’s always like that.”

“Didn’t used to be.”

“Oh?”

“Nah. The Arthur I met—you wouldn’t recognise him,” Merlin laughed, thinking back on their first encounter in Camelot.

“What happened?”

“Things just… change, you know? I bet if you met me back then you wouldn’t believe I was the same person either.”

Robert gave Merlin a sceptical look. “There’s more to this story isn’t there—about your magic? There must be.”

“There’s a lot more.”

“But?”

“But it’s complicated, and I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Merlin shook his head. “Maybe another time.”

“Such as?”

“Tell you what. We ever make it out of these trenches, I’ll tell you anything you want to know. No secrets, no subterfuge. I’ll lay it all out on the table.”


	14. In Death as in Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Camelot, Guinevere and Merlin share a heart-to-heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter fourteen's title is said by Mordred in _The Disir_.

As had been the trend, year’s end brought relative stability to their area. This time it was in the wake of over a million casualties, but it was stability nonetheless. It was needed every time. By January, the soldiers had been out fighting over two and a half years. Morale was increasingly low; no one wanted to be in France any longer.

Starting in April and continuing on sporadically through December, 1917 would turn out to be an incredibly busy year. But for those first three months, Merlin, Arthur, and their circle of compatriots would find themselves back around their lantern talking and laughing like they weren’t all stuck in those godforsaken trenches still.

When they found conversation turning to the fighting at the Somme River that had taken place through a large part of the previous year, they’d occasionally tease about Arthur’s lack of participation until near the end of the action—to his irritation, of course. After how he’d been raised, the very premise of that joke was too deeply, uncomfortably ironic to be amusing from where he sat, though Merlin disagreed.

“What would _you_ know about combat?” Henry laughed. Arthur sat directly to his left, and Henry reached out to nudge him playfully on the shoulder. “Spending a year in a hospital bed is hardly my idea of fighting.”

Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. “This nonsense again,” he all but hissed. He smiled half-heartedly at Henry. “It wasn’t funny before. Imagine how much worse it is the hundredth time.”

“I think it’s incredibly funny,” Merlin countered.

“Ah, at least one of you has a sense of humour,” Henry said through a grin, reaching over the lamp to pat Merlin, who was across from him, on the shoulder. “And you pull your weight.”

Arthur scoffed as Merlin gave him a smug look. “You shouldn’t encourage this,” Arthur told Henry, gesturing to Merlin.

Merlin looked down to his hands now, chuckling quietly to himself. One thing in France he’d grown to appreciate was watching the four other men—Arthur, Henry, Ira, and Robert—banter like the knights of Camelot always used to. He’d originally thought reminders of the past were an exercise in futility or masochism, but now that he’d had Arthur, someone who was nothing if not a reminder of the past come to life, around for a few years, he found comfort in it.

At least this way he wasn’t the only one alive who remembered those times—even if Arthur’s memories weren’t quite so complete as his own.

†††††

The first weeks following Arthur’s death were rough on everyone. It was a messy situation; they’d lost their king, and by the hand, no less, of someone who used to be one of their own. There was nothing to be said to make that kind of ache go away.

Between learning of her husband’s death and finding out she was pregnant with Elianna, Gwen spent quite a bit of her time in the armoury, staring wistfully upon weapons he’d touched, or in his chambers, wrapping herself in his sheets to try and feel his presence.

Merlin had a similar idea. He’d retained his position in the castle—been promoted, even, as Gwen looked to him for counsel in an official capacity on affairs to do with sorcery. But simply being within the castle walls didn’t fill in its own right the void Arthur had left.

To maintain a sense of stability and purpose, particularly in those first few days, Merlin would tend to Arthur’s wardrobe and his bedclothes and his fireplace and his armour—anything. He’d find himself polishing the same boots four, five times a day. They were never worn, so they would hardly be dulled by the time he repolished them; it didn’t matter. The mundane tasks he used to loathe so deeply when he was obligated to perform them had become something of a means to honour a memory Merlin wasn’t quite ready to leave in the past.

He made sure the chambers or the armoury, depending on what he arbitrarily decided needed tending to on any given day, were vacant when he did this. Largely for Gwen’s sake, he didn’t want word circulating. The kingdom needed to move on, and he understood that much.

One afternoon, he’d slunk into the armoury just after the knights had gone out to do their training for the day, assuming the coast would be clear for a few hours, give or take. He hadn’t been prepared for Gwen to have the same idea.

She’d come to the armoury intending to hold Arthur’s old blade in her hands and reminisce; she wasn’t expecting to find Merlin standing in the corner sharpening it as if Arthur would show up at any second, ready to wield it for battle.

“Merlin?” she asked, her voice shuddering a little.

She startled him, and he pulled back quickly, managing to nick his hand on the edge of the sword in the process. He winced and dropped the blade to the ground reflexively.

_Clang_.

The sound echoed through the armoury, deafening. Neither Merlin nor Gwen moved save to breathe. Only once it was dead silent again did he kneel down to pick it up as Gwen slowly, delicately floated across the armoury to him. He was still shaken from the fright she’d given him, so his hands trembled ever so slightly.

With a nostalgic, understanding sort of sigh, Gwen looked to the sword then looked up to Merlin. She motioned toward a nearby bench with her head, her proposition for him to sit with her. When he nodded and brushed by her to head towards it, she slid the sword from his hands and held it almost reverently, gazing upon it like it held the very secrets to life itself.

Now Merlin spoke. “Gwen?”

She shot her head up and looked towards Merlin, sitting to the right side of the bench with his hand on the left where space was open for Gwen to join him.

She looked back down to the sword in her hands for a moment before returning her attention to Merlin and accompanying him on the bench. When she sat, she allowed the blade to lay across both of their laps, the hilt end on her side. She took the handle in her hands, gently rubbing it with her thumb as she looked over to Merlin, whose hands were delicately positioned over the blade.

“Apparently we had the same idea,” she said with a slight laugh, trying to ease some of the tension.

“Apparently.”

She sighed. Her eyes fell to his fingers curled around the sword for just a second before she returned them to him. “How long have you been doing this, Merlin?”

“I don’t know. How long has it been since—”

There was a beat. She didn’t answer immediately. With a shrug, she finally replied, “I’m not sure anymore.”

“Well, then, for however long it’s been.”

“Merlin.”

“It’s… cathartic.”

“I’m hardly here to judge,” she assured, now actually smiling. “I don’t believe I’m in quite the position, after all.”

“Right. Right, of course.”

“It’s not wrong, you know—wanting to feel close to him.”

“I know.”

“The two of you did _nothing_ but complain about each other, but everyone knew how close you were.” She leaned over to nudge his arm with her elbow. “He wouldn’t have kept you around otherwise,” she teased.

She’d finally gotten a small smile out of him. “All it took was him dying for me to become a half-decent servant.”

“I’m sure wherever he is he’s very proud.”

“He better be.”

They looked to one another, holding back laughter. After a second or so, they could do so no longer, and the sounds of their light chuckling bounced around the walls of the armoury until it just about sounded like they weren’t alone there.

Gwen looked around the room, her eyes full of wonder as if she’d laid eyes on it for the first time and thought it the most beautiful place in the world. “It’s just like he’s here. Isn’t it?”

Merlin’s smile saddened a bit, but she’d still raised his spirits. “Come on,” he breathed, reaching his arm out and taking her in an embrace. She laid her head down on his shoulder, and silence overtook them again.

†††††

“What _I_ want to know, Arthur, is what injuries you’ve had that are supposedly _worse_ than that,” Clara laughed. The way her hair fell down her shoulders and the naturally infectiously dynamic energy of her smile reminded Merlin, in that moment, so deeply of Morgana—the Lady Morgana he’d known originally.

“Well, for one—” Arthur started. He cut himself off, trying to come up with an example he could give without having to do too much cover-up work on the story. Realising there was nothing for which he could provide an easily digested explanation, he decided to backpedal. “It was an exaggeration,” he said firmly, raising his chin to a regal angle.

“Clearly,” she replied. “I said it then, and I’ll say it now. You’re damn lucky you can even walk right now. Just a _few_ centimetres away from paralysis.”

“Guess I was destined to just… keep fighting this never-ending war with the lot of you fools,” Arthur sighed, shaking his head.

“ _Destined_?” Robert laughed.

“What’s so strange about that?” asked Merlin, reentering the conversation. He’d zoned out for quite a bit of it; the striking resemblance of this moment to so many moments in Camelot was incredibly distracting.

“About destiny? Nothing, I suppose, if you believe in that sort of rubbish.”

“You don’t think it’s possible, then? That someone has… a higher purpose? That their life could be predetermined?”

“Andy, whatever contraband spirits you’ve got your hands on that have gotten you speaking like this, I’d be more than happy to share them.”

Merlin laughed, more to keep up appearances than anything. “You’re probably right,” he conceded. “I’m just… talking.”

He lowered his gaze back into the lantern, its delicate little flame dancing intricately within its confines.

†††††

On the first anniversary of Gwen and Arthur’s wedding reception since his passing, the knights and Merlin decided to do something special for her, noticing their queen’s morale had been lowering steadily in the days leading up.

Merlin, who had helped Arthur painstakingly cover her old house in candles for his first proposal to her, decided to, with the knights’ help, reset that scene. They paid off the lovely elderly couple who’d since moved in to spend the night elsewhere and give them access to the home, and, once they knew the couple had left, they got to work. It took some time and effort, but eventually the ambience they’d created matched the one from that night.

The knights disappeared back to their residences for the evening as Merlin went to fetch Gwen from her chambers.

“My Lady,” he beckoned, knocking on the doors.

“Come in, Merlin,” she replied. Seeing him standing in the entryway, she smiled at him fondly. “I’ve told you before you don’t have to call me that.”

He returned her smile, though his was more playful. “I know, My Lady,” he replied with a deep, exaggerated bow.

She chuckled to herself. “What is it?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“It’s just… very nice outside.”

She looked out the window, raising her eyebrow quizzically before bringing her gaze back to Merlin. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Thought you could use some fresh air.”

“Merlin.”

“What? I’m trying to be helpful.”

“What is this about?”

“Would you just come with me?”

She sighed. Her confused but proactively grateful smile remaining, she gestured to the door and allowed him to lead her outside and into the Lower Town. Noticing where he was headed, she stopped in her tracks just before exiting the citadel proper. “ _Merlin_ ,” she breathed. “What are we doing?”

“Just trust me,” he called back.

She obliged and continued following him until they were stood outside the house she’d grown up in. Merlin was looking at her with wide, excited eyes, and it only deepened her confusion. “What’s going _on_ , Merlin?”

He put a hand to the door. “See for yourself,” he replied before opening it and revealing the scene within, his smile growing as he watched her expression change from confused to surprised to nostalgic to appreciative.


	15. Collapse After the First Blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An illness sweeps the trenches, and it hits close to home for Merlin and Arthur's circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter fifteen's title is said by Arthur in _Valiant_.

1918.

The Americans had (finally) entered the war.

The tides were strongly in the Allies’ favour.

People, at home and at war alike, finally saw an end in sight.

But there was, of course, just one slight problem.

‡‡‡‡‡

“ _Il est le quatorzième, maman,_ ” Clara told her mother as two soldiers entered their tent, one walking only thanks to the strength of the other. Taking the ailing soldier over her own shoulder to lead him to a bed, she said to the soldier who’d accompanied, “We have it from here.”

The soldier looked around at the tent, which was over halfway full of men all down with the same condition. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“Just get out of the way,” she hissed, laying the infirmed soldier gently on a cot and brusquely pushing his companion out of the way as she crossed over to the other side of the bed to pull a blanket over him.

The other soldier was watching her every move, only taking his eyes off of Clara to look at the man he brought in. After a few seconds, he looked around the tent, noticing the other thirteen soldiers showing the same symptoms. “Something going around?”

“I said get out of the way.”

“It’s a simple enough question.”

Clara rolled her eyes, retrieving a warm, damp towel with which to tend to the afflicted soldier’s fever. “ _Maman_ ,” she beckoned.

Clara’s mother, rather impatiently, ushered the healthy soldier out of the tent. Whatever it was exactly that had over a dozen men sick so fast, the last thing she needed was for him to end up the fifteenth.

The nursing staff was trying their best to keep the extent of the outbreak quiet for fear of rattling the troops. It wasn’t going very well. The soldier who’d just left the tent happened to pass by Merlin, Arthur, Robert, Henry, and Ira, saying on his way through, “God help us.”

The five men watched him as he walked off. Once he was out of eyeshot, they turned back to one another, all wearing the same confused and moderately panicked expression.

“The hell was that about?” asked Merlin, laughing nervously as he spoke.

“Couldn’t say,” Ira replied, his tone distant. “Must be pretty bad, though. Man just came from Clara’s tent.”

“That hardly makes sense,” Henry scoffed. “There hasn’t been fighting since December.”

“People have been coming and going from there a lot of late,” Robert said matter-of-factly. He rolled his eyes. “These filthy trenches— _anything_ can spread around.”

“I think if there were an infection going about, someone would say something,” Ira countered, if only to ease his own uncertainty rather than make an argument he believed in.

“Never thought I’d see the day Ira disagreed with his cousin,” Arthur teased.

“Shut up, Arthur. This is _serious_.”

“You’re all overreacting.”

“Oh?”

Arthur shrugged. “I’ve seen some… pretty horrible things in my day,” he said with a half-laugh. “Whatever this is, it’s probably nothing.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Disagreeing with everyone today,” Henry mocked. “Banner day for Ira.”

“Can you people stay serious for _one_ second?”

Merlin looked up as if searching for a physical answer then looked back to Ira with a smug grin and a shake of the head. “No,” he replied.

“Figures.”

At that point, Clara emerged from the tent, visibly frazzled. As he happened to be facing in her direction, Merlin was the first to notice her, and he flagged her down to get her attention. “Clara,” he called. Once she caught his eye, he waved for her to come over.

“Sorry,” she replied, rather hasty. “Bit busy at the moment.”

“With?”

“It’s nothing,” she lied. “I’m just on a quick supply run. I’d love to stay and chat, but my mother really needs the help.”

He raised an eyebrow. After a beat, he repeated, “…With?”

“It’s _nothing_ ,” she insisted.

“Sounds like it,” Arthur scoffed.

“So _now_ you think it’s something serious,” Ira said, mildly affronted.

Arthur shrugged. “Guess so.”

“Look, guys, I really just need to pick up some supplies and get back to my job. We can’t all sit around just because there’s not an active battle.”

The men looked between each other, unsure what to make of her behaviour but accepting that they wouldn’t be getting anything further from her.

‡‡‡‡‡

A week later, the nurses could no longer keep things under wraps. The panic they’d been trying to prevent had set in. And it was no wonder, what with the incidence doubling. As such, they’d told the men in the trenches that an infection—an influenza—was sweeping through.

“Three-Day Fever” they called it. Those who came down suffered it only briefly before recovering, but it was spreading faster than they could turn beds around. They advised the soldiers to do what they could to halt its course, but, realistically, there weren’t many options. The trenches were, by design, incredibly close quarters.

“One man catches it, they all do,” Clara breathed, finally finding some time to take a break from her work and catch up with the others.

It was still early in the year; no fighting had yet begun—not for their troops, at least. On one hand, they were all grateful. Better the nurses only have to worry about this rapidly circulating influenza than to have battle wounds on top of it. On the other, however, it meant everyone had nothing to do but sit around and pass along the plague.

“No one’s died yet, though,” Merlin noted. “That’s a positive.”

“Suppose so,” she replied. “It does appear to be easily treated.”

“Any idea where it comes from?” asked Robert.

“No,” she said shortly. “One of the soldiers I tended to alleges it’s Spanish, but it’s anyone’s guess where he got that idea.”

“Infections like this have made their rounds before,” Arthur interjected, the least high-strung of the lot. “Surely this one will just burn itself out like the rest of them.”

“Let’s hope you’re right about that.”

‡‡‡‡‡

He wasn’t right.

By summer, the influenza continued to spread with just as much ease, only now it had evolved. Gone were the days of the Three-Day Fever. People were beginning to lose their lives, and the infection showed no signs of going away any time soon.

Once an offensive was launched in August in a bid to finally end the war, the combination of wounded and ailing overran the rudimentary hospital system; hardly anyone who saw the inside of a medical tent was going to see the outside—staff included.

Knowing something had to be done or the offensive levied would certainly be a failure, Merlin, Arthur, and Robert decided it was time to take matters into their own hands. Or, more specifically, into Merlin’s hands.

“I told you all my healing is something of a wildcard,” Merlin reminded sternly. The three of them sat in a circle, separate from the rest of their party.

“You have to do something,” Robert replied. “The nurses and doctors can’t hold out much longer.”

“Besides, sorcery’s probably a surer thing than their medicine,” Arthur added. “Even if it’s a shot in the dark.”

Merlin nodded. “Sure, yeah,” he agreed. “But how am I supposed to magically cure _tents_ full of people without getting discovered?”

Arthur looked over towards the tents, trying to come up with something. Drawing blanks, he shrugged and brought his attention back to Merlin. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“You won’t be able to heal everyone,” Robert said somewhat callously.

“I should _try_ ,” Merlin scoffed.

“He’s right,” Arthur sighed. “There’s too many of them. You’d be caught in a day.”

“So, then… what?” Merlin asked.

“I don’t _know_ , Merlin.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Try to just limit yourself to people who… you know, already stand a fighting chance,” Robert suggested. “Especially if you’re not completely confident.”

Merlin looked up to the night sky above them for a moment. Realising Robert’s idea was the only option, he shook his head, looking back down to him. “Fine.”

“We’ll cover for you.”

“How?” Merlin laughed nervously.

“There’s battle raging, and there’s an influenza going around,” Arthur said. “Pretty sure we can find a way to get you into a medical tent.”

“Fair.”

And, as such, that’s what they did. The next morning, after all three had disappeared out into the battleline to create a believable story, Merlin draped himself over Arthur’s shoulder, faking a limp as the pair made their way into a medical bay.

They caught Clara’s eye almost immediately. “Not again, Andy, surely,” she sighed, more irritated than playful. She’d barely gotten sleep the last few weeks.

“We think he may have sprained his ankle,” Arthur said.

“Could be worse, I suppose.” She looked somewhat haphazardly around the tent before finally finding an empty bed. “You’re in luck. We don’t always have space available. Come on.”

Once Merlin was settled into the bed, Arthur left, and, come nightfall, Merlin was able to make some rounds and do what he could to spare the soldiers from their illness.

‡‡‡‡‡

At the beginning of November, the battle was still raging on. The influenza had still devastated the troops’ numbers, but, in large thanks to Merlin’s intervention, it wasn’t enough to cripple their offensive the way it would have if left unchecked.

Everything looked to be on track. That was, of course, until one of the men who was too far along to be saved—one of the men Merlin would be forced to condemn to death to save those who had a chance—was Ira.

He was in a tent Merlin had yet to inventory, and, by the time Merlin arrived, he had but a day’s worth of life left in him. And that was assuming he was lucky.

Merlin wanted to save him, and he knew he probably could have. But the tent was full of other soldiers, most of whom stood a far better chance of survival than Ira did. To dedicate the time it would take to come up with and successfully implement a healing spell strong enough to pull Ira from death’s door would undoubtedly cost those other men their lives, and Merlin simply could not justify such a decision.

He made his round through the tent as quickly as he could, giving him just enough time to take Ira by the hand and console him as the life left his body.

**Author's Note:**

> Usually I wait to start posting until I have everything written and edited on my end, but, since I have it all mapped out and it's gonna be a long one, I went ahead and started uploading. I'm posting pretty steadily, but things may slow down. Also, for what it's worth, this is my first _Merlin_ outing, so, like, do with that what you will.


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